Darkest Before The Dawn
by DennyW
Summary: DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me, but to Sally Wainwright and the BBC. But I do love them so. It was a great kiss. A magnificent kiss. But surely only the beginning of forgiveness. Begins at the end of Ep6 S2.
1. Chapter 1

**Darkest Before The Dawn**

"Caroline?"

But whatever courage she had found, only a short time ago, to reach out and grasp that steady, questioning hand pulling her, like a woman saved from drowning, to her feet and to her senses - well, such courage eluded her now.

There was a gentle click as Kate shut the door and the world outside behind them and casually dropped her coat and bag on the nearest chair. Through the window, Caroline could see the winter night sky, as black as ink against the tracery of the trees, and she stood in the darkness of her hotel bedroom, frozen, disorientated, a stranger in her own room.

It had been so much easier to be brave in among all the people and music and noise and hubbub of the wedding party, than face the intimate scrutiny of those intelligent black eyes. For, despite all her customary deflections, bluster and bravado, those gently mocking eyes had always read her with alarming ease, leaving Caroline feeling exposed and wanting to run for cover.

Caroline could still feel those eyes on her now in the stillness, and she trembled, suddenly exhausted by the adrenalin of the evening. The mere presence of Kate, so close after months of longing and rejection, _No... Thank you... _her scent intoxicating and elusive, made Caroline light-headed, and she heard the dull thudding of blood pumping through her ears and jarring her nerves.

But Kate was moving past her now, as if not seeing her, to the other side of the room, switching on the bedside lamp and bathing the room in soft, low light. She turned to face Caroline, her eyebrow lifting slightly in irony at sight of the hotel's luxurious double bed.

"Nice bed," she said, neutrally. But there was a flash of residual anger in the flex of muscles in her jaw and Caroline looked away. Yet another example of her own pitiful courage. Yet another ridiculous assumption that they could simply kiss and make up.

"Caroline? Caroline." Kate's matter-of-fact voice now nearing, now coloured with concern. Her expression still and serious. And then, for the second time in an hour, that steady, questioning hand caressing the side of Caroline's face, before tipping her chin up to meet Kate's searching gaze.

"I'm sorry... For all the things I got wrong." An echo, an apology once refused, now falteringly offered again. And seeing the unshed tears in those anxious blue eyes, Kate's expression immediately gentled. The ghost of a smile. Forgiveness. A benediction.

And once more, as she allowed herself to be seated on the edge of the bed, Caroline wondered when it had all changed, the rules to this complex courtship; when had Kate become the strong one? When had she lost control?

It wasn't until she heard the soft nonsense words of reassurance that she realised she was crying. She looked up, Kate now standing in front of her, her thumbs tenderly wiping the tears from her cheeks, then cradling Caroline's head against the warmth of her swollen belly.

And then the physical shock of change, a stark reminder of six months apart. The last time Caroline had held this body naked in her arms, it was taut and toned, naturally athletic in frame. Yet now the skin was voluptuous, soft, rounded. The breasts were heavy and full and Caroline felt desire surge through her, pure, white and undeniable. Kate was beautiful. Regal, radiant, overwhelmingly erotic, a goddess in the soft glow of lamplight.

"I'm so gay," Caroline sniffed through her tears, gallantly trying to lighten the mood. She felt the rumble of surprised, delighted laughter against her ear.

"You think?" said Kate dryly.

"Yeah," she replied softly, her arms instinctively tightening around Kate's waist, pulling her closer possessively, pressing her lips to the soft skin between Kate's breasts. She heard Kate's breath catch and the sound was thrilling.

A word struggled to free itself, a word that she had suppressed for too long.

"You... look...magnificent."

Kate's fingers tangled in the soft waves of Caroline's hair, and felt the muscles twitch at the nape of her neck in automatic response. "I love your hair like this," she whispered, tucking an errant blonde curl behind Caroline's ear and pretending not to have understood Caroline's reference. She didn't feel magnificent.

"I'm still the same," Kate said quietly, bending down to bestow the lightest of kisses on Caroline's forehead.

"No, you're not." Caroline's voice broke, too frightened by what she might add. She paused to compose herself. "But neither am I." And Caroline immediately felt a settling of nerves, a leveling, as they both quietly accepted the truth of her words.

"I want... to be... enough for you. I want... to be... everything you deserve."

"You're all I ever wanted," Kate replied with simple honesty and Caroline was shamed. Shamed she couldn't bring herself to tell Kate the truth. Even now. After everything that had happened, she was still a child at this.

"Don't you think," said Kate quietly, "that we'd be more comfortable... in the bed?" And, without another word, she began to untie her dress. Almost petulantly. Almost daring Caroline to deny where this was going. Without thinking, Caroline reached out to cover her hands, stilling them, and clumsily untied Kate's dress herself.

For a few moments, the familiar fear of intimacy - that prowling demon that had plagued every moment of their time together, urging her to run away or to stay and control, but never to reveal what was in her heart - caught in her throat, and sensing it, Kate simply let the dress fall to the floor and pressed Caroline's hands to her naked belly.

"I need you, Caroline." Caroline felt the life stir within. "She needs you."

Caroline laughed on an uneven breath, shaken.

"I'm... a little... frightened... to touch you." Amazed at her own honesty.

"Why."

"Because of the baby... I wouldn't know..."

But Caroline did know. She knew exactly what to do.

"Caroline," said Kate, her voice full of wonder, "I won't break."

So, in the same hotel where they unravelled so poignantly all those months before, Caroline and Kate finally reached for each other. And, while the stark winter wind rattled against the window, and the black night was bearing its darkest hour, both women were steeled for the long journey ahead; to heal a hundred aching hurts, and embrace the breaking dawn of Christmas morning - together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Precious**

It was a changing quality of light, a fleeting shadow that danced before her eyelids, a certain stillness in the air that stirred her awake. For the first time in months, Kate woke feeling rested, rather than the usual lethargy of endless troubled dreams, and she blinked several times to clear the heavy mist of sleep from her eyes.

Instinctively, her hands cradled her stomach, a daily ritual of anxiety, suspended uneasily until the first kick or movement, then overpowering relief and gratitude that she was yet another day closer.

Caroline wasn't in the bed next to her. The sheet was cool to her touch and Kate wondered, with surprise, how long she had been sleeping. Then, powerful memories from the night before; _Caroline, kissing her endlessly with slow, aching tenderness; Caroline caressing her face, her hair, her shoulders, whispering her name over and over; then a building, inexorable hunger and Kate turning them, her kisses becoming deeper, more demanding, pressing the length of her body urgently against Caroline's, feeling Caroline immediately pull away, gasping._

"_I can't-"_

"_Ssh, it's okay." _

"_It's too much-"_

"_I know, I know." Kate kissed the tears forming at the corners of Caroline's eyes and drew her into a comforting, safe embrace. Lulling her towards sleep, kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry," the last words she remembers Caroline whisper in the darkness._

Concerned at the silence, Kate lifted herself up onto one elbow, surveying the hotel room, and found the motionless figure of Caroline, leaning her head against the window, and staring out distantly.

There was something ethereal about the light this morning and it bathed Caroline in wintry hues of white and silver, the heavy shadows of her cheekbones boldly painted with the blue of the sky, translucent as a watercolour. Wearing nothing but an oversized white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, her legs gloriously naked, her blonde hair swept off her face, she looked the epitome of cool, effortless elegance, and Kate was bewitched.

Then, a sixth sense stirring, Caroline turned, and immediately those blue eyes warmed perceptibly, becoming soft, vulnerable, and Kate marvelled at the transformation, and the piercing loveliness of her smile.

"It's snowing," Caroline said, eyes drawn inexorably back outside, as excited as a child. "Kate, come look."

Kate sat up, and carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed. She closed her eyes for a moment, quelling the self-consciousness of being naked and pregnant in the unforgiving daylight, then stood and braved the scrutiny of those incredibly expressive eyes. Seeing the familiar passion and guardedness fight there, as she approached.

"I wondered where you'd gone."

Blue eyes averted now, Kate's body too close, too intense. "I woke up early. Didn't want to disturb you. I'll get you a robe."

And, as Caroline draped a bathrobe around her shoulders, Kate felt the intimacy diminish. She tied the robe tighter around her body, and sat down in one of the chairs, staring out at the snow, the flakes tumbling aimlessly.

"I'll make some tea," said Caroline, glad to keep her hands busy, anything to stop them from reaching out and worshipping every inch of that magnificent body.

"So...erm... do you... have plans for today?"

"Yes," said Kate simply. A small, rather distant smile on her face, hands demurely folded in her lap. Silence. Kate sipped her tea.

"Oh." More silence. "What are they?"

Kate just glared at her.

"Sorry. Sorry. Well, perhaps we could see each other... one evening... this week, then. Or next, if you're busy."

"Perhaps," repeated Kate, her expression becoming more and more remote. The muscles in her jaw began to jump. Minutes passed.

"Well..." Caroline was in free-fall now, politely sipping tea like they were acquaintances at a garden party. But her hands were shaking and her face was flushed and Kate couldn't bear it anymore.

"Do you know why I came back?"

Caroline looked up, not expecting such a direct question so soon. She shook her head, not sure if she wanted to know or not.

"_Right, well, have a nice Christmas," Kate had said sweetly - thinking, two can play at this game. Wounded, Caroline retorted; "Yeah,_ _how likely is that?"_

"Because, for five words, you actually managed to be honest with me, Caroline."

This was the moment Caroline had dreaded, and instinctively she moved to stand, to escape, but Kate's hand firmly gripped her shirt and pulled her back down next to her. Enough games.

"It was refreshing. That honesty. Instead of all the times you stopped me in the corridor to discuss timetables and lesson planning and budgets; coming into my classroom to 'inspect' the Modern Languages syllabus first-hand; requesting my attendance at meetings that were nothing to do with my department-"

"I bought you flowers." It sounded whiny even to Caroline's ears.

_Give me strength, _thought Kate, trying not to grind her teeth together. She winced as the baby kicked her hard and briefly entertained doing the same to Caroline.

"Caroline, Caroline, Caroline," she said, exhaling on an exasperated breath. Did this woman really run a prestigious public school? Maybe there were two. Maybe Beverley kept the other Caroline - the one that snottily strutted about the school in her high heels and terrorised pupils and faculty alike with her sharp wit and sharp tongue - locked up in the supplies cupboard at night. The idea entertained her. "Where to begin..."

"I tried and tried to talk to you," Caroline said weakly. "I did apologise-"

"'Nice'," said Kate flatly, sitting back in the chair, folding her arms and pinning Caroline with a dark look.

"S..sorry?"

"'Nice'. You said what we had was 'nice'."

"Oh."

"A visit to see your nan and granddad is nice, Caroline. A day-trip to the seaside is nice, Caroline. A meal out, a stroll in the park, an afternoon at the bloody zoo is _nice, _Caroline."

"I said 'precious'," Caroline said softly, feeling that panicky sense of events spiraling out of control again.

"You said 'nice'."

"No, no, sorry, I meant... to Gillian. The night before. The weird night I told you about with Gillian. She asked why we broke up. I told her what we had was... 'precious'."

And Caroline was suddenly thoughtful, a dawning realisation, something gnawing at her, just out of reach, something she really didn't want to think about... She felt the ominous beginnings of a headache splitting across the back of her neck and creeping up to her left temple. She rubbed her forehead anxiously.

Kate observed her quietly.

"Why did you say 'precious' to Gillian and 'nice' to me?"

"I don't know." Her head was starting to pound.

"Wrong answer. Try again."

"Because... I'm hopeless." Blue eyes pleaded for mercy. They found none.

"Unacceptable. Again."

"Because... I..."

"You're going to have to say it."

"Because..."

"Say it."

"Because I was afraid of you rejecting me. I _am _afraid of you rejecting me. I'm _always _afraid of you rejecting me so I said 'nice' to lessen the blow, okay."

Caroline sat back, shaken. Did she really just say that?

"Thank you. The truth. Finally." And Kate leaned forward, hands clasped together, as calm and composed and deadly and dangerous as Caroline had even seen her, even with 9F. She winced in anticipation.

"Well, Caroline. So. Here's a lesson from your Modern Languages teacher, whose _work _you have been so _fascinated _by these past few months;

"'Nice' - derived from the Latin _nescius, _originally meaning 'stupidity' and later 'mildly agreeable' - got you fifty-seven-and-a-half cold and lonely minutes of sitting outside my house in your car, with me watching from the bedroom window, calling you a choice selection of vulgar names in French, Italian and English.

"'Precious' - from the Old French _precios _meaning 'beloved, adored, cherished, treasured' - would have got you naked. In my bed."

Caroline swallowed hard.

"That is the importance of the words we choose, Caroline. The importance of speaking the truth."

Kate sat back and sipped her tea.

"The reason I came back is because you told me the truth. You managed five words." She waited.

Caroline, face burning, eyes bruised with emotion, her chin raised defensively, opened her mouth to retort. But something had changed profoundly in her, a shifting of spirit, and instead of the words she expected to say, Caroline found herself speaking softly.

"I will never recover if you dump me again."

"I came back for you. I'm keeping you now."

"I'm scared of fighting with you."

"The sky won't fall in because we disagree."

"I keep your old grey cardigan under my pillow. I cry every time you drive away from school without me. I've been drinking too much. I didn't let you touch me last night because I'm terrified I'm going to blow it again. I have to see you again _today_. You can't just _leave_ me here, Kate. You really can't."

Kate reached out and held Caroline's face between her hands, a reward for her courage and Caroline leaned into the caress, eyes closing.

"No. I can't." Kate swallowed a lump in her throat. "I have to take mum to see my dad this afternoon. We have Christmas lunch at the Centre with him. I'll be home after five."

"The whole family are staying here today and tomorrow. Mum could keep an eye on Lawrence."

"Do you want to come round later?"

Caroline nodded, too upset to speak.

"Do you want to stay the night with me? We'll just hold each other? Talk?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

They looked out at the flakes, falling faster and harder now to the earth; the imposing branches of the trees bowed low by the simple crystals; footprints, with all their human stories of comings and goings - visible only an hour ago - were now lost in the snowdrift. And there, in the middle of the scene; a couple, wrapped up against the weather, one holding a toddler up to the sky like an exclamation mark, then spinning them both around and around in the snow, while the other took photos.

Kate's hands drifted automatically to her belly, rubbing rhythmically, and Caroline felt her wistfulness. She stepped quietly behind her, wrapping her arms around Kate's neck, kissing her hair softly, and together they watched a family playing, a future family, ghostly white, still a little uncertain, still a little undefined, but Caroline swore she could hear the distant sound of laughter through the reflection of the glass.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Million And One Things**

"How is he?"

Caroline shook the snow from her boots and quickly shut the door behind her to banish the cold, gusty wind battering the front door of Kate's cottage.

Kate sighed. "A good day, actually." Standing in her winter coat, the chilled night air clinging to her hair and face, Kate looked tired, a little lost, and Caroline longed to reach out, to comfort her. But their connection to each other was still too fragile, her insecurities still too deep to believe Kate was truly hers again to touch. So she stood miserably with her hands by her sides, wishing this terrible sense of loneliness would pass.

"Dad's got this watch. He keeps winding it up, over and over. He broke the mechanism. But I found a similar one online and swapped it over before he realised and got upset."

Caroline knew, by now, she would normally have been mildly distracted. Not unkindly so, but her mind thrumming with all the day's tasks still to complete, for the school, for her boys, her mother. Tonight, however, Caroline's gaze remained steady and focused singularly on Kate; on her mouth, her face, her hands, her body.

"Has he been there long?"

"Two years."

"Oh, Kate, I'm so sorry." Caroline edged closer.

"We cared for him at home, with mum, as long as we could, but he kept leaving the gas ring on, and it got too dangerous."

"You miss him."

"Yeah."

"It's a long goodbye." Something in Caroline's voice made Kate turn to look at her, but Caroline said no more, not wanting to turn the focus back to herself, to stop Kate from talking.

"I wish..." Kate started softly. "He'd have loved..." Unable to finish her thoughts, rubbing her pregnant belly in a familiar gesture of anxiety, Kate sighed and moved to take her coat off. "Anyway, how was your day?"

"Fine, fine." Caroline paused. A little laugh, dispelling the tension. "No, actually... it wasn't fine. But it was certainly... _memorable."_

Kate was intrigued. "Why?"

"Well, once you'd left, I went in search of the boys. William was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs..."

"_Granny's on the war path. I think you should go now." William looked around anxiously, as if the forces of Gog and Magog were about to descend at any moment._

"_I can't just leave. What about Lawrence? I haven't even seen him yet. There's his Christmas present-"_

"_He's already opened it with Angus. They're kicking snow at each other out the back. He's fine, I'll watch him. You'd better go."_

_Caroline felt a rush of tenderness for him; her brilliant and sensitive young man, standing determined and strong, her defender, her protector, her hero, and she pulled him into a fierce hug._

"_Well, isn't this sweet? Am I interrupting?"_

_Celia, omnipotent, garrulous, sporting a particularly sour expression from her extensive repertoire of blood-curdling looks, was now standing beside them, arms folded._

"_Mother-"_

"_About to sneak off, were you? Off to see her again, no doubt. And to think I actually invited that... that woman to the reception, thinking it might put a smile on your miserable face for once."_

"_It did."_

"_Well, I'm glad you're happy-"_

"_I am, mum. Really. For the first time in months."_

"_-all I've had all morning is our Muriel smirking at me, like a bloody Cheshire cat. Did you know, Celia? Bit embarrassing that, wasn't it Celia? You must be so disappointed, Celia."_

_Alan appeared, flustered, breathless and smiling hesitantly at Caroline._

"_Come on, Celia-"_

"_Have you any idea how humiliating that was, carrying on like that! Flaunting yourselves like a couple of... harlots on the dance floor. In front of everybody! Even the waiters! Disappearing off to your room for a mucky-"_

"_Celia! Enough!"_

_And, surprisingly, Alan's raised voice silenced the tirade._

"_Now, you listen to me, Celia Buttershaw. It's Christmas morning. Even the Germans called a truce on Christmas morning. You were right to invite Kate. It were a good thing. It were a kind thing. Don't go and spoil it it now."_

"_But our Muriel thinks-"_

"_Oh, who cares what Muriel thinks! Y'hate the bloody woman!"_

_At that precise moment, Muriel materialised with Gillian in tow. There was an awkward silence. The odd titter._

"_Morning, Muriel," said Celia, smiling weakly. Gillian sniggered, leaning against the grand oak bannister, enjoying the schadenfreude. "You look tired, Caroline. You alright?" _

_Caroline's eyes narrowed, darkly._

"_Right," Caroline said suddenly, in her best, clipped headmistress voice. Handbag and car keys at the ready. "I'm going. Happy Christmas, one and all."_

"_What about Lawrence?" Asked Celia, incredulously._

"_I'm looking after Lawrence," said William gamely, squaring his chin against Celia. "Mum needs time with Kate-"_

"_You?! You can't even wash your own underpants! I'll look after Lawrence."_

"_We'll __all__ look after Lawrence," said Alan,_ _quickly. "Go on, love. Go on; you go."_

"_Tada, then," said Gillian, gleefully, clearly enjoying herself._

_Caroline leaned in, a little menacingly, as she passed. "You and me are going to have a nice little chat soon."_

"_Can't wait," replied Gillian, her grin a little diminished._

"And so I left. Well, I pretty much _ran, _really. And I grabbed a few things from home, and drove straight here - well, round the one-way system four times actually, as I saw you'd only just got back yourself but I... I... I..."

Kate's warm kiss silenced her flustered ramblings. But the heightened tension of the past day gripped Caroline and she abruptly pulled Kate deeper, their kiss escalating quickly into heat, her breathing ragged; her hands now tangling and tugging in Kate's hair; her open mouth raking sensually down Kate's neck. Kate's eyes closed involuntarily, as sensation washed over her.

"Oh, Kate." There was no doubting the longing in her voice.

Kate gently eased back, her hands soothing the rush of passion in those intense blue eyes, understanding its source, entranced by how emotions raced across Caroline's face as quickly and unpredictably as a sandstorm.

"You're here. We're together. That's all that matters, Caroline. Relax."

Caroline, a little thrown, a little hurt, stepped back quickly.

"Sorry. Sorry."

Kate grabbed her hand, kissing the palm to calm her.

"Don't be sorry. I just need a shower and to change. I won't be long."

Caroline smiled, nodding silently, feeling a little less breathless. Kate kissed her forehead softly then left.

Caroline poured herself a glass of wine. She stood, looking around the cosy lounge, its neutral, conservative colours and fabrics, the pretty floral prints on the walls, and remembered the last time she sat perched forward on that armchair in the bay window; hands clasped, heartbeat pounding, such a stranger by then - so separate, so _unnecessary - _that she still wore her coat and her bag, slung across her shoulder, like an unwelcome salesman, selling, selling, selling desperately to someone who wasn't buying. Kate had never looked so indifferent. She had never felt so lost.

She wouldn't sit there tonight. She vowed never to sit there again.

"Shall I light the fire?" she called up the stairs.

"If you like," Kate replied, the sound of the shower switching on.

And then, looking around the room again in greater detail, discovering hundreds of clues, tiny pieces of missing information, like the million dots of pure colour in a pointillist painting that individually made no sense, but collectively formed a perfect image of Kate. _Her _Kate. That she had missed so much in her numerous visits here before - through arrogance, indifference, through a conceited pride in her finer tastes, her superior wealth, her higher social status - made her feel deeply ashamed. She regretted her selfishness greatly.

She took the time now to pore over the framed photos; Kate playing the piano in a music recital; grinning at the camera surrounded by a group of friends, all in fancy dress; her arms around an older woman whose eyes was eerily reminiscent of Kate's; fragments of a full life lived, but not shared with her.

Drawn to the bookcase at the far side of the room, Caroline let her eyes drift across the titles on music, philosophy, language, poetry. Exotic subjects to her scientific brain; heady, subjective and a little intimidating. She tentatively picked up a collection of poetry by Emily Dickinson and opened the front page. Inside, a handwritten inscription in soft-looped blue ink;

_For your onyx eyes. Maggie._

The intimacy of the words stabbed at her, and she quickly closed the book with what she realised was jealousy; acute, guttural, visceral jealousy.

"My favourite poet. Emily Dickinson."

Caroline turned sharply to find Kate watching her from the doorway, now dressed in leggings and a soft white tunic. She was running a brush through her hair, which she wore down tonight; burnished raven black by the flames of the fire.

"I...I know nothing about poetry."

"I'll read her to you sometime. If you like."

"I'd like that. Very much." Caroline paused, voice even. "Who's Maggie?"

"The first woman I slept with," Kate said with her usual candour, those black eyes - those _onyx _eyes - regarding her, scrutinising her with unnerving accuracy.

"Oh."

Feeling her heart lurch painfully. The first? How many were there? And why had she never asked? Caroline swallowed the question and moved away from the books and their secrets. She noticed Kate's feet were bare.

"You'll get a chill," said Caroline, distracted.

"Then maybe you should come here and keep me warm."

Kate took her hand, gathering her into an embrace on the sofa, moulding Caroline's body to hers, feeling the unconscious shiver of desire ripple through her. But Kate simply held her, tracing gossamer patterns across Caroline's bare forearm with her fingertips, fascinated by the fine blonde hairs that twitched in their wake. For a while, they sat in silence, simply existing, side-by-side. Eventually, hesitantly, Caroline started to speak.

"At the wedding, I overheard Alan and mum reminiscing with uncle Ted about the old ABC cinema, up on Ward's End in Halifax - It's not a cinema any more, of course, it's a tacky nightclub or something - but they were talking about how, in its day, it was pure vintage Hollywood, with gold statues either side of the screen."

Curious, Kate listened, now drawing featherlight shapes across Caroline's hand; her finely-manicured nails, her narrow, feminine wrist, her slender fingers.

"And, the funny thing was..." Caroline swallowed, closing her eyes, struggling to speak, as Kate's fingers ran up her arm, nails now softly caressing the long line of her neck, the subtle, shifting muscles, the soft skin behind her ear, "...the funny thing... was there were no programme times like nowadays. The movie was on a... a loop and you simply started watching the film at whatever point you sat down."

"Sounds... confusing," said Kate, leaning in to kiss that beautiful long neck.

Caroline, filled with emotion, aroused by the sheer eroticism of such a delicate, tender touch, turned to look at Kate, her eyes vivid in the firelight. And something in her expression made Kate stop. Look and listen fully.

"And I thought... I thought... that's _us_. That's you and me. Because - no sooner have we settled in our seats, and I've bravely put an arm around you in the dark - than Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall are kissing passionately, the music's swelling and the credits are rolling. And we missed all the best bits of the movie. We skipped straight to the... the..."

"Getting pregnant bit?"

"Yes." Unsettled, unsure. Her eyes now scared and averted.

"Caroline," Kate said, as gently as she could, waiting until they had eye contact again before she carried on, "there are things we can't change. Things we both did. Some of the plot points of our story are... fixed."

"I know, I know," Caroline answered quickly, not able, not willing to go there. Not yet.

"So, what do you want?"

Caroline took her hand. Like a vow, solemn and serious.

"I want to stay - with my arm bravely around you in the dark - and see the movie from the very beginning. Fill in all the gaps. Understand the unfolding drama. Have a comedic interlude or two. Maybe a subplot. Enjoy the subtext. The scenery. The soundtrack. The _splendid_ sexual tension. I want the awkward-first-date bit, the getting-to-know-each-other bit."

"The eleventh-hour-making-up bit?"

"Oh, Kate," Caroline groaned, "that's the best bit." She leaned in to bestow a soft, slow kiss, her lips lingering close to Kate's now, her gaze darting from Kate's full mouth to her eyes - those stunning, almond, _onyx _eyes.

"I know we've got so much to sort through, Kate. So much to resolve. There are things I can't even... _think _about yet, but - for tonight - for tonight, can't we just sit in the dark and watch the movie again. Won't you let me start to find out those million and one things I don't know about you."

Kate was quiet for a while, moved by the mere possibility of forgiveness. Of starting again, wiser, truer, stronger. Her fingers began their gentle tracing once more, this time of their joined hands.

"My dad's name is Neil McKenzie," she began simply, her voice breaking a little. "He was a teacher. A brilliant music teacher."

And, as movies went, it seemed a good place to start.


	4. Chapter 4

**Fundamental**

_The cramping had been getting worse throughout the night, wave after wave of cresting, thundering nausea that rolled through her abdomen, agony coursing down her arms, pooling in the nerve endings of her fingers, white and rigidly gripping the bed sheet like an anchor-line._

_This too shall pass..._

_There was a momentary becalming, a lull, as she was thrown, winded, breathless, into a hopeful eddy..._

_This too shall pass..._

..._only_ _to be dragged once more - gasping for air - under the shockingly deep, cold current of pain._

_The body next to her lay still and sleeping, warm and unknowing and Kate had never felt so utterly adrift, so convinced there could be no respite, no safe harbour, no dawn to this wretched night. Longing to reach out but too exhausted to do anything but breathe in, Kate silently mouthing, 'This too shall pass, this too shall pass, this too shall pass...'_

_Only, now the pain was remorseless, unremitting and was washing down through her legs, pins and needles in its_ _wake, and she kicked the sheet away in panic, trying to keep her head above what she knew was an immense, approaching tidal wave. The shout of terror she gave, as it hit her, full blast, stirred the body next to her and a hand reached out and touched her shoulder._

"_What is it?" Richard asked, his voice tired and confused from deep sleep._

"_I'm bleeding," she answered, faintly._

"I'm bleeding."

"Kate. Kate."

"I'm bleeding!" She surged upright.

"_Kate_."

An enveloping warmth, firm hands restraining her, holding her confidently. Being pulled, wrenched from the misery, into a protective embrace. A soothing, cool palm against her hot forehead, brushing damp hair off her face. Kate blinked, confused, then looked up straight into the serious face of Caroline - cast austere by moonlight and shadows - drinking her in like oxygen, still trembling and gasping for air.

"It's okay. It's okay. You're safe now. I've got you. You're going to be fine." The cool hands were now caressing her face, her brow, her jaw. Soft lips were kissing her mouth, her eyelids, her hair. Kate felt suspended, spinning, disorientated.

"I'm bleeding..."

In panic, she tried to move, weakly struggling against the arms that circled her, but she was held powerfully in place.

"Ssh." Calming, smiling, reassuring words, softly spoken. "A bad dream in the night. I've got you."

"What..."

"You're not bleeding." Kissing her cheeks, her brow, her mouth. Holding her with tender strength.

"My baby-"

"She's fine, Kate. Absolutely fine. Feel her."

And Caroline guided Kate's hands reassuringly to her belly, both of them feeling the agitated movement under the feverish skin. "You woke her up."

"Sorry... Sorry, I..."

Caroline eased them both back to the pillows, wrapping her arms securely around Kate, fitting the length of their bodies together as close as possible, feeling her own elevated heart rate echo and vibrate through the pulses at Kate's forehead, neck, wrists, groin, ankles.

"You're wearing my t-shirt," Kate murmured.

"Yes. Yes, I am." And she stroked Kate's hair. "I've got you," she whispered over and over, and eventually lulled them both back to sleep.

When Kate next awoke, it was to the comforting sensation of warm hands cradling her stomach; gentle hands that rubbed circular patterns across her sensitive skin, sometimes lingering to connect with the baby growing inside her, feeling her shape, her position. It was soothing, so much so that she might have easily drifted away again, but for the lightest of kisses on her lips. Kate opened her eyes to find Caroline lying next to her, brilliantly bright blue eyes focused on her.

"Let me be your birthing partner," Caroline said.

Kate closed her eyes again tightly. "No... thank you."

If Caroline was upset or surprised by the answer and the familiar stubborn set of Kate's jaw, the flexing of muscles there, she hid it well.

"Let me help you, Kate."

"Mum said she'd do it."

"But we're _together_ now."

"I don't want to upset her."

"I've been through it too; you can see, _surely _- my body is stretched and scarred-"

"_No_, Caroline."

"Oh, I'm sorry, but you'll have to do better than _that, _Kate." Something in the sharp pique of Caroline's voice made Kate open her eyes.

"You wouldn't understand," Kate offered neutrally, that dark shadow over her shoulder - her constant companion - too terrifying to name, to glimpse. Miserably, she started to turn away on her side, but Caroline reached out and held her arm.

"So _teach _me. Help me to understand."

Hadn't Caroline been there for her at the hospital? Rejected and hurt, but still holding her hand in the darkness? Kate sighed. Did she have to be so headstrong all the time? So difficult? So...perverse? She wasn't the only one in need of forgiveness, Kate reminded herself. She lay back, stared, unblinking, at the ceiling. And she was silent for a long time, remembering. But Caroline was holding her hand and waiting. Waiting.

"The first time I... people tried to be kind. They would say things like, 'You're young, you've got plenty of time yet.' Or 'at least you weren't far along' - as if... that... _mattered. _To _me. _And I - we - thought... we're not alone. Lots of couples... And I got pregnant again pretty quickly. But, the second time... people started saying useless_... platitudes. _But there is no sense. I don't want to hear about... I don't want to _hear _about it. After that, people... generally avoided me, or..." Kate looked at Caroline, but her dark eyes were dry and expressionless. "I was married to Richard for four years, Caroline. Four years. A year... for every baby I lost."

Caroline listened and thought about her two boys. Imagining her life without them. And she felt a dreadful pang of guilt, a terrible tugging of her heart, thinking about Lawrence and all the times they had sat eating meals together in bored silence. Feigning interest. Wanting to be somewhere else. With someone else.

"You said it yourself, Caroline; babies are _fundamental. _The root chord in both our lives. But yours is the major to my minor. The scars written on our bodies are very different."

And Caroline said nothing. Nothing at all. She simply stood, ran her hands through her blonde hair and walked to the window, looking out at the neglected little country cottage garden below. In her ridiculously tight t-shirt. The absurdity of which brought the ghost of a smile to Kate's face.

"Why are you wearing my old Durham university t-shirt?"

"Well, because, last night, after we talked about going nice and slow and then we..."

"Necked on the sofa for two hours."

"Yes, well, I found it _challenging _to sleep... naked... after that... _contact. _So, I found this in your wardrobe."

Kate looked at the faded old, grey t-shirt, at least one size too small for the generous swell of Caroline's breasts. Durham had never looked quite so inviting.

"I really don't think that's going to help us, Caroline."

"Mmmm." But Caroline was looking out the window, distracted by something. "Kate, would you mind if I did some work on your garden this morning? I feel the need to _do _something."

"Sure," said Kate, surprised. "I haven't even thought about the garden since..." Although the sun had broken through the heavy grey clouds, and the snow was rapidly melting, it still looked far too barren and desolate outside to do much.

"I just need to _think. _I like to do that in a garden."

"I know. Sure."

Kate had, on many occasions during their time living together at Caroline's, sat drinking tea and reading while Caroline worked in her large brick-walled garden; the espalier fruit trees, the beautifully clipped bay and buxus, the lovely breakfast patio with oak-framed pergola. In the summer, it was awash with wisteria and highly-scented cream roses. So lush and pretty compared with her practical little garden. Caroline had green fingers. Things grew effortlessly for Caroline.

From the bedroom window, Kate watched Caroline in her faded jeans and boots, pulling on her heavy jumper, striding about restlessly in the garden, back and forth, back and forth, hands on hips, hands in hair, clearly lost in thought. So different from her urbane high heels and power suits. So earthy. By the time Kate had bathed, Caroline was deep in activity, sweeping, raking, pruning. Still a little disturbed by her dream, Kate settled down with her book. Camus' _Le Mythe de Sisyphe_ seemed apt.

"Kate," called Caroline up the stairs. "Will you come outside for a moment?"

Kate started. She had fallen asleep, the iron-blue shadows longer, the apricot sun lower in the sky. Greeted with a kiss, the nostalgic smell of wood smoke and crisp winter air, Caroline took Kate's hand and led her into the garden. All the roses had been pruned; the compost bin now neat and tidy. A small fire burned in the incinerator at the far side of the garden. Caroline turned to face Kate, gathered her thoughts and then spoke softly.

"I know nothing I say can make it better, Kate. I know I can't fix this, I understand that. I really do. But I thought - maybe - we could... well, we could... plant a lovely magnolia tree... _here," _- and Caroline strode to the centre of the garden, arms outstretched wide and high, waving them about like swaying branches in the breeze - "and... and we could put a Lutyens-style oak bench _here, _for the morning sunshine," - again, she moved, pretending to perch - "and I thought, in the autumn - before the first frost - I could, well, I could plant hundreds of daffodil bulbs all around us.

"And then, every spring, we could sit among the flowers and... _remember _them. Together. Me, you and the baby."

She turned around to see what Kate thought. But Kate wasn't there. Kate was running back into the cottage, the door shutting behind her the only reply.

Caroline was already showered and in bed, back in her ridiculously tight t-shirt, quietly studying the school governors' latest report with her glasses low on the bridge of her nose, when the bedroom door finally opened. Without a word, Kate sat next to her, handing her a leaflet. Caroline studied it carefully.

"Antenatal classes," said Kate.

Reaching out to caress Kate's cheek with tenderness and gratitude. And then, finally, Kate's tears. Hot, angry, stinging, desperate tears. Her stoic Kate, always strong, always there to pick her up off the office floor, was wiping at her eyes with the heels of her palms. She looked so young and vulnerable and Caroline finally understood how lonely Kate must have been these past months. How very lonely. And frightened.

"Oh, sod it," Caroline muttered, choking up with high emotion herself, dumping the t-shirt unceremoniously on the floor next to the bed, swiftly followed by her reading glasses and paperwork. She reached for Kate, gathering her gently to her breast, holding her head there, stroking her hair, giving comfort the best way she knew how.

And arching now, taut as a bow, as Kate's mouth found her, electrifying, drawing on her tentatively at first, then with great need, Caroline felt the fine ribbons of pain through the very core of her as an ecstasy, experiencing the stirrings of an infinite connection between them; for the blood that women shed; for the scars that women carry; for the losses that women endure. This too shall pass.


	5. Chapter 5

**Aubade**

Somewhere between the twilight of dawn and sunrise, dreaming and certainty, Caroline became aware that Kate was lying across her and kissing her deeply. Caroline's body already so malleable, so suffused with pleasure, she wondered if she'd slept at all. Instead, she appeared to be floating, held aloft by the hypnotic, unceasing rhythm of their mouths pressing softly together.

Then, the gift of sound; hard rain and gusts of wind whipping against the window and making it rattle; the dawn chorus of blackbirds then robins then wrens; and, thrillingly, Kate's uneven breath catching, as Caroline's nails grazed her scalp, fingers running through her hair, pulling her closer still.

Then, the sense of sight; drinking in Kate's body pulsing against hers in the first slate-grey somber light; Kate's hands urgently gripping her shoulders; Kate's gaze, bold and direct, connecting with her own.

"The things I want to do to you," Kate whispered, her voice harsh with need, and Caroline instinctively strained towards her, the words highly charged.

"Then do them," she whispered back.

But Kate buried her head in the nape of Caroline's neck, breathless and shivering. Still stirred by Kate's tears during the night, Caroline's hands began a delicate exploration of the full length of Kate's back; the almost unbearably smooth skin; the exposed, long neck and slim shoulders; the lean muscles supporting the vertebrae, shifting and rippling at her touch; the voluptuous dip at the base of her spine; her hands circling now over the satiny fullness of Kate's hips.

And Caroline thought; _you are so beautiful._

In that one moment, that one moment of grace, Caroline knew she was unravelling. Knew she was becoming undone. Knew there was a word, lurking. Knew the word was too powerful to name. Knew she was more frightened than she had ever been in her life.

"I've got to go," she whispered in rising panic, trying to break free and sit up.

"No." Kate's mouth against her ear, holding firm. "No, you don't." And Kate carefully gathered her back into her arms, kissing her again, over and over. Calmer now. More languid. It felt like drowning. Death by a thousand paper-cut kisses.

"No?"

"No. You'll chase it away."

"You seem to say 'no' to me a lot nowadays," Caroline said, her voice low, husky from sleep and emotion.

"In the words of Molière: '_Déférence et l'intimité vivent éloignés'._"

"Did you _really _just quote Molière at-" Caroline squinted, somewhat myopically, at the bedside clock, "five in the morning?"

"The old ones are the best."

"So?"

"So what?" Kate was distracted, nuzzling Caroline's neck, ear, into her hair, inhaling the scent of jasmine, citrus and the faintest trace of yesterday's wood smoke.

"As sexy as it sounded, I haven't a clue what you just said."

"It means; 'Deference and intimacy live far apart.' It means, as _magnificent _as you are, sometimes I have to say 'no'. For your own good."

"Oh, _really." _A little riled.

"Really." Warm, kind eyes, placating, melting her again. Unravelling her. Slowly, layer by layer, skin by skin.

Kiss by kiss.

Another shift of time, light less defused, an airplane overhead, cars rumbling in the distance. Caroline groaned, drew away from Kate's mouth and sat up in the bed, running her hands through her tousled hair. The rain had stopped. Her mouth felt bruised.

"I've got to go back this morning." Desolate. Chewing on her thumb nail.

"I know, I know." Kate rubbed Caroline's naked back soothingly.

"Will you come to dinner tonight, Kate? Stay with me. Be with me."

Kate hesitated, but something in Caroline's expression, a real fragility in her eyes, made her nod in agreement.

"Sure. Why not." Seeing the wonderful smile of relief that followed and knowing it was because of her. She continued to caress Caroline's back, the pale skin now prickling from the morning cold air.

"Caroline," Kate said, as gently as she could, "don't you think we should talk about what happened, at the hotel that weekend. Don't you think we should talk about-"

Caroline's back stiffened. She stood up abruptly, pulling a dressing gown tightly around her body. Kate thought it a perfect metaphor.

"Right, then. II'll make us tea and run a bath." The bedroom door shutting quietly behind her.

Kate collapsed back on the pillow. Looked out the window. Exhaled heavily.

The light had crept across the ceiling and was now pooling on the bathroom walls, the weak rays catching the floating motes of dust and rising tendrils of steam as Kate, with the help of Caroline, climbed cautiously into the hot water and settled her head back against the bath. Caroline sat beside her on the floor, wringing a cloth in the soapy water and began to bathe Kate's neck and shoulders. Kate laughed in surprise, her skin flushing, a little aroused, a little embarrassed, and closed her eyes to the intimate scrutiny. She dangled a steaming arm out the bath, and the sunbeam caught her wet skin, painting her a sheen of golden amber. Caroline was transfixed.

"Do you remember that fitted cream top you wore last year, before we... got together, Kate? The one that fastened up the front. Tiny rose pattern. Little cream buttons."

Kate nodded, eyes closed, lost in the sensation of Caroline's thorough ministrations, the cloth sweeping slowly up one arm, across her shoulders, into the base of her neck.

"One summer's day, you had the top three buttons undone and I thought your skin looked... _beautiful. _Like... liquid caramel."

Kate laughed musically. The cloth scraped down Kate's arm, tracing the fine scar on Kate's right hand.

"How'd you do that?"

Kate opened one lazy eye.

"Cut myself washing-up a wine glass at uni. Shattered in my hand. Needed six stitches. And a tetanus."

The cloth passed over a small scar on Kate's brow.

"This one?"

"Slipped in the bathroom when I was nine and cracked my head on the corner of the bath. Blood everywhere. Not pretty."

Cautiously, the cloth touched the neat scar across the top of her left breast. A silent question.

"Benign tumour. Eight years ago. I'd just left Richard." Kate opened her eyes to see the anxiety there. "It's fine, it's fine," she reassured. She reached out, stroking Caroline's face.

"Caroline, I really need to talk to you, to tell you something about-"

"Is she pretty?"

Kate frowned, confused. "Who?" She asked.

"Maggie." The soapy cloth began stroking languidly up and down Kate's thigh. It was distracting. Blue eyes evasive now, staring at her moving hands; her voice deliberately impassive.

"Maggie? No. Not pretty. She's... striking."

"What does she do?"

"She's a mezzo soprano."

"Oh." Obviously not the answer she was hoping for.

"Caroline, why are we talking about a woman I haven't dated in years? Haven't even _seen _in months?"

The second she said it, she knew it was a mistake from Caroline's darkening expression. Kate rushed on.

"Don't you think there are other... _things_... other _people _we should be talking about? Caroline, shouldn't we be talking about-"

"You saw her? Why?" There was the slight flair of her nostrils, the chin jutting in a telling gesture of jealous insecurity.

"Because we're still friends," said Kate helplessly. "Because she had a concert at the Barbican. Because she asked me to. It was... _nice._"

"We weren't friends once you dumped _me." _The cloth stilled. The blue eyes now perilously close to a full-blown thunderstorm. "Trust me, I _distinctly _recall."

"Caroline," said Kate, trying to becalm the billowing black clouds now raging across Caroline's face, "we could never be friends."

"Sorry?" Sharp as brittle, pelting hail.

"_Just_ be friends, I mean," Kate added quickly. Nice, Kate. Nice. "It's all or nothing for us. You know that."

Caroline's electric blue eyes now vivid. There could even be lightning. Fire bolts. Brimstone. Kate sank a little lower in the water.

"You make us sound terribly... tragic. _Kate._"

"We're too... visceral, Caroline. I... _want _you... too much." The honesty seemed to placate Caroline a little, who dipped the cloth back in the hot water and lathered it up. Kate's soapy hand covered hers. "I don't have any... platonic feelings for you, Caroline. I never did." Guided Caroline's hand to the silken fullness of her breast, feeling the immediate firming under Caroline's electrifying touch. Watched the blue eyes unconsciously harden with desire, become heavy-lidded as passion flared.

"Do you... for me?" Kate asked plainly.

The only response, a fierce kiss, her tongue shockingly forceful, her teeth biting Kate's lower lip, still clearly inflamed, possessive.

"I'll take that as a no," said Kate, under her breath, ruefully rubbing her lip.

"When did you last speak to her?"

"Last month. She's moved to Los Angeles to live with her new girlfriend, who's a conductor."

"Bus conductor?" said Caroline, nose in the air, a snotty little smile edging her jealousy.

"Yeah", said Kate, laughing easily. "A bus conductor. World famous."

They linked hands. Kate pressed her lips to Caroline's wrist. The tension defused, the storm passed. Caroline ran the soap over Kate's swollen belly with great tenderness, her eyes glistening. She washed the skin with infinite care then kissed it softly. Kate watched in wonder. Her Caroline. Four seasons in one day.

"I know we need to talk about... mmmm... But Kate, not now. Please. _Please. _I understand so much better _why_... why you... Don't make me think about the _how _just yet. Please. I haven't even had my comic interlude. Or my awkward first date."

"Oh, I think we've had a few of those," said Kate, dryly. But Kate finally sighed and smiled. And Caroline bestowed the gentlest of kisses as she wrapped Kate up in a bath towel.

"What shall I cook, Kate? What would you like?" Kate looked up, surprised. Another first. But Caroline, now showered, was busy dressing and, item by item of clothing, was also donning her exterior self; confident, charismatic, collected.

"Well, world foods, really. Moroccan, Thai, Mexican street food, y'know..."

Caroline looked nonplussed.

"Oh. Well... I'm game. I'm sure I've got a Turkish lamb dish somewhere-"

"And, erm..."

"What."

"Well..."

"What?"

"I'm actually a vegetarian."

"God god! Are you _really, _Kate? I've been feeding you pork and beef and lamb-"

"Yes. Well, _actually, _no, you haven't - you've been feeding William and Lawrence pork and beef and lamb-"

"They _knew?"_

"I've been sliding it on their plates when you were in the kitchen."

"God. Do I know you at all?" Caroline looked stricken.

"Well, you know me a damn sight better than you did six months ago, Caroline."

A small, hurt look. "You could have _told _me, Kate-"

"I did. Twice. You obviously didn't hear. And I was too embarrassed to say anything about it afterwards. So. Now. You know."

"I'll have to buy a vegetarian cook book," Caroline said, vaguely disturbed, making it sound like she would have to scour the souks of Marrakech.

"Or. Or you could - perhaps - let me cook. In your kitchen."

"In my kitchen. You. Cook."

"Just a thought," muttered Kate.

"It's a good thought, a _very_ good thought, Kate," said Caroline finally, realising she could actually... just... _let... go. _"You cook, I'll sous."

Caroline slid on her jacket, her mannerisms becoming more clipped and efficient as she headed for the front door, handbag in the crook of her arm and keys in hand. But, as she turned to say goodbye, the unguarded, lost expression returned. Kate felt a painful tug at her heart.

"You're not going to... forget about me, Kate."

"No more than I could forget how to breathe, Caroline."

And then she was gone. Already texting, briskly rushing, rushing, rushing.

Kate leaned heavily against the door frame. She stood there, long after the jeep had gone, touching her stinging lower lip. There was a robin hopping across the frosty lawn. Rain clouds were gathering again. She sighed.

Tonight. That bloody house.

Facing Lawrence.

What Lawrence knew.

What Lawrence _saw_ that night.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Robin**

He found it lying in the centre of their sodden back lawn, which was now pockmarked with worm casts and the vestiges of last week's fruit bowl for the hungry winter wildlife to devour; decomposing apples and oranges, scattered far and wide like different coloured snooker balls across the baize.

It lay graceful, noble, fragile but perfectly unblemished. There was no sign of damage or mauling; no broken neck or ripped wings. No. The robin looked as if it had simply lay down and... died.

Somehow, Lawrence knew, just knew, it was the same robin that had visited him every day this past month, while he was tightening the chain on his BMX bike or wilfully kicking his football as hard as he could against mum's precious plant containers on the patio. He'd started digging earthworms up out of the herbaceous borders to help feed it, carelessly pulling up spring bulbs in the process. These, he just chucked at the neighbour's ginger tom cat, who stalked imperiously across their joint fence. Pretended he was playing Tin Can Alley, like he used to with Popsicola at the Harrogate Stray Fair. Before Judith. Before Gillian. Before McKenzie. Before all the weird _fricking _babies.

And day-by-day, week-by-week, the robin got bolder and bolder, closer and closer, and Lawrence started chattering to it about... well, stuff. Like, why did they want _more _kids when they didn't seem to give a toss about the ones they already had? He sniffed. Whatever.

There was a noise from inside the house. "Mum?" he called hopefully. "Mum? Is that you?" But he saw it was only the local newspapers dropping - unwanted, never to be opened - through the letterbox. He stuck his head in the fridge, pulled out a carton of milk and drank from the container. Helped himself to the packet of digestives in the top cupboard, leaving the crumbs on the granite worktop, and went back into the garden.

Lawrence wiped his cold nose on his sleeve and found a small stick, poking the bird with it. When it didn't move, he hesitantly nudged it with his foot. Still no movement. He knelt down on the lawn and peered curiously. He'd never seen a bird this close-up before. Its olive-brown wings, made up of a thousand intricate little downy feathers; the soot-black beak and eyes; the fine, fluffy, milky-white underbelly; the vivid, crimson-scarlet breast; the colour of mum's favourite rose. The colour of passion, she said.

The colour of anger.

The colour of the trail of blood from Angus' busted nose.

Lawrence flexed his right hand. He winced. The colour of the blood he'd wiped off his badly bruised fist onto his jeans.

He spat on the ground.

After a moment's indecision, Lawrence scooped the robin up in his left hand. It was so small and soft. He opened the lid of the rubbish bin. Stood looking at the dead bird in the palm of his hand through unshed tears. Unable to do it. Carried it into the garage and placed it gently on his bike saddle, instead.

The doorbell rang. At last. At last. _Mum._

He ran inside, jumping a little and kicking his heels together, fizzing with adrenaline and bottled-up energy, prepared already to forgive her for dumping him on Christmas Day with the utter _knobhead _that was his brother. Kissing and cooing with his new girlfriend, Roxie, like a pair of rabid-demented doves. But he wasn't fooling Lawrence. Big _poof._

Gleefully, he got ready to shout out something funny and sarcastic. Mum would love that. He'd play the fool for her. To please her. To make her laugh. She'd kiss his forehead, indulgently. Maybe, if she wasn't too tired, they would chat and then he could... maybe he could finally tell her-

He snatched the door open wide.

"Hello, Lawrence."

McKenzie.

"Can you help me with the shopping bags, please?" said Kate.

"_I don't want to be here," Lawrence said, carrying the shopping bags into Kate's country kitchen and dropping them unceremoniously on the counter. There was a crunching sound. Kate rolled her eyes, checking the organic eggs were in her bags. Nope. Perfect._

"_Well, we'll just have to make do, won't we, until your mum comes to collect you."_

_What was it with this family? It seemed impossible to escape them, like trying to navigate some nightmarish roundabout, where every exit driven down inexorably led back to Elliotsville. She was running out of petrol and patience._

"_I could have stayed there on my own. I'm fifteen-"_

_She looked at him ambivalently. So like John. So churlish. So ungracious._

"_I know, sure," said Kate shortly, wondering if it was too cruel to suggest she pop him back to Judith's. Really, she just wanted some tapas, a hot bath and bed. She glanced sideways at him. He was flustered and close to tears and her heart went out to him, a little. He looked so much younger than his fifteen years._

"_Do you want to help me make some dinner?" she asked kindly._

"_I'm not hungry," he said sullenly, and looked around, embarrassed and agitated and Kate realised he was desperate to escape her._

"_Your bedroom's the first on the left-"_

_Lawrence was already running up the stairs. The bedroom door slammed shut. Kate stood uneasily. Well. This was going to be fun._

_Nina Simone soothed her soul as she finely diced the shallots and garlic, enjoying the process of preparing the winter greens and potatoes, chopping up heaped tablespoons of tarragon. It had already been a frustrating day of power games with Caroline - 'Kate. Kate, can I have a word, please?' - Those luminous blue eyes resting anywhere but on her. Kate's jaw twitched. Really, it had to stop. Kate was either going to have to kiss her or kill her. Anything just to shut her up._

_Yet, ringing Caroline's mobile and hearing the answer machine's beep had rattled her. Where was she? It was getting late. Why wasn't she picking up? And why, exactly, was Kate now contemplating changing her clothes and putting on make-up for Caroline's inevitable arrival? It was pathetic._

_So lost in thought, at first she didn't see Lawrence leaning uncertainly in the doorway, the aromas of smoked paprika, coriander and cumin coating the gently frying shallots and garlic too much to ignore. Without looking up, she said;_

"Come and make yourself useful. Wash your hands and cut up these avocados and lines for me, please, Lawrence."

"Where's mum?"

"School. There's been a flood in the library overnight. Burst pipes. She's there now, with the caretaker. She'll be back soon," Kate reassured, seeing his crestfallen expression.

"Are you coming back here to live?"

"No, Lawrence." She added a splash of white wine, emphatically. "I'm not."

"Are we coming to live with you?"

A pause.

"No, Lawrence. You're not."

He ran out of curiosity. Silently, and rather awkwardly, she thought, from the corner of her eye, began cutting up the avocados.

"How was Christmas? Did you and Angus have fun in the snow?"

Lawrence shrugged, moodily. She peered at his flushed, angry face, and for the first time felt a prickle of... _something. _Noticed how he was fumbling to hold the knife properly and stepped to his side to supervise him better. Seeing the raw, swollen knuckles and deep bruising to his hand.

"Lawrence," she said, reaching out to him, watching him flinch. "What have you done?"

"I didn't do anything," he said. But his eyes were fearful.

"Lawrence," she moved closer, "what's going on?"

He looked at her, breathing shallowly, eyes downcast in distress. And Kate saw Caroline in his pale face. So vulnerable. So unsure. For the first time, she felt a small rush of tenderness for him. Realised she could learn to care about him.

"I... I..."

"Let me look at your hand," Kate said gently. "Show me your hand."

"_Right. Now relax the wrist. Great. Piano playing is all about feel and that comes from your wrist as much as your hands. Now spread your hand. That's great. That's an octave."_

_Lawrence grimaced, as his hand connected with the keys. "That's hard."_

_Kate grinned. "You get used to it. Want to play something with me?"_

_He shrugged, noncommittally, but she could see he was interested. _

_Having eaten in an awkward silence, she had_ _left him watching TV and gone in search of peace and solitude with her beloved piano, her oldest friend waiting patiently for her in the corner of the small dining room. But, after a while, lost in Debussy, she sensed him watching her play from the doorway. It intrigued him. She could see the vibrations, the sounds, the energy moved him._

_Instinctively, she knew not to overwhelm him with technical details. Lawrence was going to be intuitive. Driven from the heart. She began to play a simple left-hand motif; the first piano piece her father had taught her. Becalming, hypnotic. Lawrence copied her perfectly. Sensitive to the flow and cadence of the rhythm._

_Kate sat down quietly next to him and began to play the counter right-hand melody. Saw the surprise and joy jump in his face, as the two melodies began to weave mysteriously and magically together. Although he stumbled once or twice, he was utterly absorbed, and Kate laughed in delight as he managed to focus on his own motif and not succumb to the seductive rhythm of hers._

_The doorbell rang._

"Don't tell mum," said Lawrence.

Kate bathed the hand in silence.

"Do you want me to talk to Angus' dad."

"Angus told him we were fighting over a girl." Lawrence's face was blushing again.

"Were you?" She asked quietly.

Lawrence looked away. But Kate saw the small, painful shake of his head. He was getting clearly upset and Kate rested a still, warm hand on his shoulder.

"Lawrence, do you want to talk to me? Do you want to tell me something."

Lawrence looked out at the garden, roughly wiping tears off his face. "There's a dead robin in the garden. I don't know what to do with it."

Kate rubbed her forehead, confused, trying to follow his thought patterns. But he was a small boy again now, hands in pockets, swaying uncomfortably with emotion. Wanting to be elsewhere. But paralysed, waiting for permission to flee.

"Come on," she said to him finally, beckoning him into the garden. As an afterthought, she picked up the brown paper bag the avocados came in.

The dusky evening was bitter, a hard frost settling on the ground. The sky was a deep russet red fading quickly to black as Lawrence held up the robin in his hand for Kate to see.

"She's _lovely_," said Kate, taking the time to appreciate how beautiful the robin was, the final rays of the sun casting the bird a faint, glowing copper, like a phoenix in the dying embers of a fire.

"Let's wrap her up and bury her properly at the back of the garden."

As Lawrence dug a small hole, Kate watched him. Realised he had been lonely. Accepted she had contributed to that loneliness. Realised he was not fully grown but no longer a child, either; trapped in the no-man's land of adolescence, with all its myopic insecurities and obsessions.

"I'm sorry it's been such a... confusing time for you, Lawrence. For us all."

It was nearly dark now and she saw the slightest tilt of his head, the small glint of his eyes. The confessional light allowing him to ask softly;

"Why does everything have to _change? _Why can't things stay the same?"

Kate rubbed circles on her belly, the baby within getting restless. The crisp, cutting night air had arrived with a vengeance and she shivered.

"Everything has a season, Lawrence. Birds. Flowers... People. I know it's hard to believe right now, but nothing stays the same. Good or bad. It all passes, eventually."

"Don't tell mum," he said again.

"I won't," she answered, a promise in the dark. A pause. "Lawrence, what you saw, the night you stayed at my house-"

"I'm not going to say anything." He had been expecting it. "It's not for me to tell."

Kate nodded silently.

They began to walk slowly back to the house, its bright lights a warm, welcoming beacon. Not quite friends. But not enemies now, either.

"_Can I play for a few more minutes?" Lawrence had asked, head bent over the piano keys.  
_

"_Sure. I'll let your mum in."_

_Kate walked to the front door, steeling herself, trying to feel nonchalant about seeing Caroline but not succeeding in the slightest, her stomach knotting in anticipation._

"_It's okay. He's here-" she began, as she opened the door._

"_Hi, Kate," said Greg._


	7. Chapter 7

**One Kiss**

It was the enticing rhythm she felt first, as she wearily turned the key to her front door. A smooth double bass, a cabasa-infused Latin groove that reverberated through her chest, instantly transporting her to the smell of sunshine on bare skin, the warm zephyrs breeze, al fresco dining under the canopy of lemon and orange blossom stars.

Then, divine smells; roasting butternut squash and red onions; the aromatic rosemary triggering a memory of trailing her fingertips through fields of lavender, among the hazy humming of busy bees.

Caroline glanced in the dining room and saw the table beautifully set with linen and napkins, soft candlelight soothing her tense muscles. She swallowed the sting of tired tears at the thought gone into such preparation. Feeling cared for. Feeling she wasn't alone anymore after so many months of heartache and misery.

She paused in the doorway to the kitchen, vaguely surprised to find Kate and Lawrence in the same room together, never mind standing side-by-side, in silence, but still somehow... connected. The music louder, infectious. Acoustic guitars, soaring trumpets, zapateado tapping. Kate was humming, swaying her hips to the rhythm and Caroline stole a moment to appreciate her lovely pregnant form, the fitted mid-calf navy blue dress; hair piled-up, exposing her exquisite neck and jaw.

"Is this where the party is?" Caroline asked, smiling.

"_Mum_," said Lawrence.

"Did you miss me?" she asked him, wrapping her arms around his narrow shoulders, rocking him back and forth, pressing her cheek tenderly to his hair.

"No," he mumbled against her, but didn't let her go.

"That's good, because I didn't miss you, either," she replied, kissing his hair, inhaling the boyish smell of him, closing her eyes. Opened them to find Kate regarding her sympathetically.

"You okay?"

"Oh, it's a bloody _mess._"

Caroline kissed Lawrence's forehead emphatically then reached for the red wine, filled a large glass. Took a big sip. "It's fine." Took another, held the glass to her forehead. "Great music," she said.

"Buena Vista Social Club," said Kate mildly. But her hips were still gyrating and Caroline was becoming transfixed. "Think I'd better take a shower," she said dryly. "I'll go get changed."

Truth was, she was cold, with wet feet and a briefcase full of insurance paperwork to fill in. Yet, among the irritation and mundanity of the day, she had been hopelessly distracted, finding herself sitting among the water-logged books and unable to think about anything other than... well... kissing Kate.

Remembering their last kiss.

Remembering their first kiss.

Remembering how persuasive sweet, kind Kate was. One drink. A nice country pub she knew. Where was the harm?

But it wasn't sweet, kind Kate that had turned up at her door that evening, in her _nice _grey cardigan and her _nice _beige slacks, with her _nice _gentle smile. No. It was a Kate in tight denim jeans, fitted black silk shirt, black leather jacket; her luscious raven hair long and straight; her eyes and mouth beautifully made-up. Caroline had swallowed, her mouth dry. So this was _casual _Kate? Just-popping-out-for-a-drink Kate? _Jesus. _Caroline had held her clutch bag tightly to her chest as she got in the car. Self-conscious. Tongue-tied. Got the distinct feeling, as Kate drove them away, that she'd just been, well... had.

And, Caroline acknowledged - slipping off her wet clothes and stepping under the hot, steaming water - the evening had been _lovely. _Roaring fire. Cozy, intimate, even. Kate had been delightful company. Playful. Funny. Until Caroline had noticed two women in the corner opposite them. Hairs rising on the back of her neck. She had looked around, reassessing. Finally... _clicking. _Women. Lots and lots of women.

God. She was slow.

"_Kate..." Caroline paused, anxiously. "Kate... we're not..."_

"_What?"_

_Caroline nodded her head in the direction of the two women now kissing in the corner. Hands everywhere. Kate rolled her eyes. Trust Annette. A different woman every other Tuesday._

"_Kate, you wouldn't... you haven't_ _brought me to... you know... a..." _

"_What?"_

"_Look, I'm no genius, Kate, but-"_

"_Well, actually - technically - with an IQ of 168, you are, in fact, a genius. I, on the other hand, with a miserly-"_

"_Kate." Eyes closed in irritation. "Have. You. Brought. Me. To. A... gay bar?" Whispered quickly, like she had said 'crack den'. 'Whorehouse'. 'Liberal Democrat Conference'._

"_Well," said Kate. "This __is__ a bar." She glanced over at Annette, quirking an eyebrow in appreciation at how quickly the woman worked, "and I would say they are most __definitely__ gay. So..."_

_Caroline looked aghast. Almost speechless._

"_Kate. This is... completely... utterly... horrendously inappropriate."_

"_Why? It's not contagious. We're just two friends having a quiet drink. Aren't we?" Kate sat back, folded her arms, her eyes narrowing, daring Caroline to say what they both already knew._

"_Aren't we?" Kate asked again, pointedly._

_Caroline's skin flushed a dark pink, her chin rising in embarrassment. "What if someone sees me - us - here?" Caroline sniped angrily._

"_Well, Caroline, I'm guessing - if they're here themselves - they aren't going to be too bothered, are they? And, if they're here and they are - bothered, I mean - well, they won't exactly want you to dob them in it either, will they?"_

_Caroline stood up, her cold, supercilious headmistress voice cutting across the background muzak like tyres screeching over broken glass. She snorted, mirthlessly. "Oh, this was clearly a __big__ mistake. I should never have agreed to come out with you. Look, Kate, I'm sorry if you've misunderstood-"_

"_Sit down."_

"_Excuse me?" Incredulous._

"_I haven't finished my drink yet. Sit down. Unless you want to walk."_

_Caroline blinked, mouth ajar. Looking at a stranger. "What, exactly, have you done with __nice__ Kate?"_

"_Sit down," Kate said, then more gently, adding, "please."_

_Caroline couldn't help herself but laugh in shock, not able to remember the last time anyone had stood up to her, and she dropped back into her seat, covering her mouth with her hand to disguise her nervousness._

_Kate's expression stilled. "And please don't idealise me, Caroline. I'm not so nice. I'll only disappoint you."_

_They were silent for a while._

"_You could never disappoint me," Caroline replied quietly. Somehow becalmed._

_Caroline's eyes kept darting back, inexorably, to the two kissing women, feeling flushed. Uncomfortable. Knew instinctively that Kate was watching her. She drank her wine too quickly. She looked down at her hands. Far away. A little lost. Fiddled with the hem of her dress. Eventually, her voice small and expressionless, she said;_

"_There was a time..." _

"_What?"_

_But Caroline was humming to herself, brushing moisture from the frosted wine glass with her beautifully manicured fingertips. Round and round, droplets spilling onto the worn, wonky tabletop._

"_There was a time - what?" asks Kate again. Caroline looks up finally, the laughter lines around her eyes tense, troubled._

"_When I wondered if... if... that might be... me."_

_There was a sudden heightened tension. Palpable. But it was Kate who turned away, breaking the current that flowed between them._

"_I should get you home," she said._

Caroline let the soap wash away the residual fatigue of the day. All those beautiful books ruined. Turned the water up hotter and remembered how the dark country lanes were a haven for both their thoughts that night.

Only Kate had slowed down, signalled into a deserted lay-by, flanked by gigantic, shimmering oak trees that rustled like rain sticks, and Caroline's heart had thumped so loudly, she felt it reverberate through her entire body. Pins and needles in her hands. Kate parked in the deepest shadows, then switched off the car engine. Sat back in her seat. Turned slowly to look at Caroline, her face still and serious.

"_Do you want to find out?" Kate asked quietly._

_Caroline's irregular breathing has long since given her away. Her head dipped low. There was a whisper of shifting air, a lingering hint of scent, then Kate's heat was close, too close. Tilting Caroline's chin up to look at her, reading the fear and desire with effortless ease._

_Kate finally closed the distance between them, her lips pressing lightly against the very corner of Caroline's mouth. Lingered, enjoying the nervousness. The frisson. The undeniable electricity. Felt the tremors such a delicate touch elicited. Inched unhurriedly, deliberately across Caroline's tightly closed lips in a series of excruciatingly slow kisses. Caroline whimpered. Kate pulled back and smiled in compassion, stroking Caroline's face with the back of her fingers, to calm and reassure her._

"_Relax," she whispered. "I can make it feel so good."_

_And her thumb caressed Caroline's lower lip, gently encouraging her to soften her tense jaw and open that lovely mouth to her; gradually unfolding her, unwrapping her like precious gold leaf; fragile, brittle, liable to splinter and fold-in on itself at any second. And this time, Kate tilted her head and, with infinite care, fitted their open mouths together._

_Felt the overwhelming shudder pass between them at the contact. A paralysing, aching softness. Caroline moaned and Kate pressed her back against the headrest, kissing her fully and deeply, her hand slipping under the hem of Caroline's dress and beginning a sensual exploration of the silky skin._

_It was at the barest touch of Kate's tongue against her own - too intense, too intimate, too raw - that Caroline broke away, gasping and frightened._

"_Take me home," she demanded._

_Looked out the window, her voice trembling, tearful. Turning her body away._

_The car engine started again. _

_But Caroline had her answer._

_One kiss, _she thought, dressing up for dinner. Adding perfume to her pulse.

_One kiss, _she thought, enjoying the laughter, Lawrence's happiness, the divine food, the sensual candlelight, the metallic tang of the wine rolling around her tongue.

"_One kiss... _and I knew," she whispered, her lips nuzzling Kate's neck, as they tidied-up the kitchen late that night, moving together intimately to the slow, mesmerising Latin rhythm, Caroline's hands pulling their hips together possessively, feeling the baby between them.

"You knew what?" Kate closed her eyes, arching her head back as Caroline's mouth moved lower into the cleavage of her dress. Feeling her hot breath against the sensitive skin.

"That I'd come to you again," she said.

The trials of the day finally catching up with her, Caroline did her best to stifle a yawn. Kate smiled, bestowing an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

"Come to bed," said Caroline, her voice thick with tiredness, already drifting up the stairs, sleepily.

_One kiss._

"I'll be up in a moment," Kate said, massaging her neck, looking up at the ceiling, breathing out, Caroline's words triggering the powerful memory.

_One kiss._

"_I just wanted one kiss from you," said Greg, attempting to take her hand. Kate backed away, felt a tiny prickle of worry. A small darkness descend. She should_ _never have let him in the cottage, she realised._

"_Greg, I can't give you... what you want. And I've been honest since that night about why." She cradled her pregnant stomach protectively, looked towards the front door. It was firmly shut._

"_I just want one more chance to say... you deserve someone who's kind and funny and gentle-"_

"_She __is__ kind and funny and gentle-"_

"_She broke your heart. I was there when she did it. Remember?"_

"_Greg, please don't-"_

_He runs his hand through his unkempt curly hair in frustration._

"_Anyway, I get it. I get it. A one-time deal. You're back together. You're a lesbian. I'm an idiot. She's a lucky-" Greg paused, calming himself. "My problem, not yours. That's why I've got to leave. I've accepted a six-month contract in Dubai. So, I just wanted..."_

_And Greg rubbed his brow, visibly upset._

"_... a kiss goodbye. A kiss to say 'thank-you'. A kiss for old friends' sake. One kiss to say that we weren't just... just..."_

_He couldn't bring himself to say it. And Greg reached out to her, imploring, his hand covering hers._

"_We've been friends for so long, Kate. I'm really... messed up."_

_Kate knew what she felt was regret. And sadness for a friendship that would never truly be the same again. Sorry she was lying to him about her and Caroline being back together. Sorry she had ever involved him in the first place. Sorry she had so cruelly pushed Caroline away. Sorry for the whole wretched mess._

_And when Greg reached for her, she stepped back again, found herself pinned against the wall and knew she could be in trouble. But this was Greg, with his silly stories and daft impressions. Greg, one of her oldest friends. Greg. The father of her unborn baby._

_So, as he leaned in to kiss her, she calmly stilled him. Reached out and - as kindly as she could - closed his open mouth with her thumb. "Thank you, old friend," she said softly, her fingers resting across his lips. Went to kiss his cheek. Platonically. With friendship. With gratitude._

_But Greg, overcome with longing, surprised her, grabbing her, pushing her back against the wall, crushing his mouth to hers-_

"_Kate."_

_Greg jerked back, startled by the voice. Kate turned, looked at Lawrence; his face dark and upset. Saw Caroline in the upturned chin. The flared nostrils. Saw her in his indignation. His confusion. His anger._

_One kiss._

"Are you coming to bed?" Caroline said, her eyes closing, her husky voice fading.

Kate stood, looking down at Caroline, already drifting into sleep, one naked arm thrown out across the bed sheets, the other, wound around Kate's old grey cardigan, hidden under her pillow. Kate's heart tightened painfully. Caroline looked so vulnerable. So easily hurt. Kate reached down, gently removing her reading glasses from low on the bridge of her nose, closed her book, smoothing the silky blonde hair, kissing her mouth.

_One kiss._

"I'm here," she said quietly.

And switched out the bedside light.


	8. Chapter 8

**It's Control, It's Power**

She was sitting perfectly still on the garden bench outside; no coat against the biting, blustery weather. Staring unblinking into oblivion, the wind whipping her tousled blonde hair around her face and shielding her troubled eyes. She shivered, gripping a solitary piece of paper in her lap that caught occasionally in the gusts of wind and flapped wildly and desperately, like the death throes of a moth trapped under a bell jar, slowly suffocating.

Kate silently held out the steaming mug of tea to her, and Caroline took it without a smile or acknowledgement. She wrapped her free hand around the mug, warming the bitterly cold fingers but didn't move to drink it.

"You'll freeze. Come back inside."

Kate's exhaled breath hung like a misty cloud of worry in the air between them.

There was no reply and so Kate cautiously lowered herself down next to her on the bench, one hand protectively holding her stomach.

For a few moments, she simply drank her tea and looked around Caroline's garden. Watched a small grey squirrel, its winter tail thick and bushy, scurrying up the trunk of the neighbour's gnarled old apple tree, storing its foraged seeds in the small cavity of a branch.

"Caroline," she said hesitantly, "I have absolutely no idea what just happened."

"Do you remember," said Caroline, still staring into space, her voice flat and expressionless, "the last time we sat here together?"

Kate shrugged, noncommittally. But, of course, she did.

"You told me your dad had Alzheimer's."

"Yeah, I remember." Kate reached out, and gently pushed the windswept hair from Caroline's face.

"I don't understand what that has to do with... what just happened... between us..."

Caroline turned, her expression at once stormy and unsettled. Kate swore she could predict the weather in those eyes.

"Oh, Kate... It has _everything _to do with what just happened."

* * *

Sitting up in bed with the sheets smoothed neatly under her naked arms and surrounded by endless paperwork, Caroline peered over the top of her reading glasses.

"Where have you been? I woke up and you were gone," she demanded immediately, clearly a little peeved.

"Lawrence needed a lift into Harrogate," Kate explained evenly, sitting down next to her, a little taken aback by the tone, and feeling somewhat reprimanded by a very naked headmistress. With lots of freckles and soft, creamy skin. The incongruity of the image made Kate smile to herself.

"You could have _told _me," Caroline said tartly. "I thought you'd gone home."

"You were tired, Caroline, I wanted you to sleep," Kate said reasonably, reaching out to soothe her dishevelled blonde hair and dispel the bad mood brewing. "I wasn't gone long. Don't be cross. I come bearing lunch." As it was, it had proven to be a very illuminating car journey. Poor Lawrence.

Caroline stretched out, cat-like, against the plumped-up pillows, resting one arm wantonly at the back of her head, the sheets now barely veiling the generous rise of her breasts; posing with the unconscious beauty of a Rodin; sensual, turbulent, complex. She exhaled a slow, deep breath, scrutinising Kate provocatively over her glasses. Rather flustered, Kate laughed self-consciously, getting the distinct impression she _was _lunch. Kate à la carte.

"I'm not tired now," Caroline husked in a low voice, her rather feral gaze fixed on Kate's white cotton shirt. She reached out imperiously, her fingers undoing the top button in a no-nonsense manner. Kate watched; bemused, bewitched, decidedly bothered.

"Come back to bed." Lyrical. Coaxing.

The second button popped open.

"I need to hold you."

The third button stuck a little, and Caroline tugged at it impatiently.

"I want to feel your skin against mine."

"Can you at least take off the glasses, Caroline," managed Kate, as Caroline's shapely hand worked its way under her shirt, drawing enticing circles on her sensitive skin and making her pulse begin to thud.

"No," said Caroline, a trifle smugly. There was a pause. "Why?" she added curiously, watching Kate closely. She picked fights about the strangest things, Kate mused.

"Because I feel like I'm being undressed by the headmistress," Kate said, a little too quickly. Realised she'd probably said quite enough, thank-you.

"_Well_..." drawled Caroline slowly, enjoying this delightfully revealing new piece of information, and promptly unleashed her natural authority, her commanding presence, her undeniable charisma as she prowled powerfully across the bed towards her. "If that would _help, _Kate..."

But Kate knew that look. It was a look that was likely to get her pinned up against an office door. She quickly stood up.

"Come back to bed." A hand seductively snaking around Kate's toned bicep, sending sparks spiralling through her body. Grazed the cool white cotton with her fingernails.

"I _really _don't think that's a good idea, Caroline," Kate replied wryly, on an uneven breath, stepping back.

"Why not?" asked an increasingly frustrated Caroline, folding her arms in irritation and glaring at the very uncooperative Kate, who was now watching her indulgently from the safety of the doorway.

"Because we're taking it nice and _slow, _remember?" Kate grinned, having regained some distance and her equilibrium.

"Don't you want what I want?" Caroline said, kneeling and pouting. Decidedly put-out. And, to Caroline's chagrin, Kate started to laugh out loud, not unkindly, but at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Caroline blushed. Finally started laughing herself. At herself.

"Sorry. _Sorry," _she said, shaking her head in dismay. "I'll just get a shower," she said, ruefully. "A really cold one," she muttered, under her breath.

Having amply fed them, Kate's suggestion of a quiet matinee movie - cuddled up on the sofa - seemed like a perfect choice, thought Caroline, as she went to sip her wine. She noted with some disappointment that her glass was already empty.

"What's your favourite movie, Kate?" asked Caroline, partly out of curiosity, partly to distract Kate as she refilled her glass again with the rich, ruby wine. Those knowing black eyes narrowed slightly, not missing a trick. But Kate said nothing. Instead, she considered her answer, giving that familiar little shoulder shrug when her interest was piqued.

"_Betty_ _Blue - _Béatrice Dalle is so powerful in that. Oh! And _Il Postino, _about the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda who shares a love of poetry with a simple postman. It's so beautiful."

"Sounds gripping," said Caroline dryly.

"_My Life As A Dog-"_

"Now you're just making it up."

"Jean-Pierre Jeunet's _Le Fabuleux Destin D'Amélie Poulain _- it's a masterpiece."

"Is there anything we could watch that doesn't require subtitles? My eyesight, like my pelvic floor, isn't what it was." In fact, her vision was getting decidedly blurry these days, Caroline thought gloomily.

But Kate was warming to her theme.

"_Huit_ _Femmes! _I mean - come on - a crooning Catherine Deneuve rolling around on the floor with Fanny Ardant." Kate waggled her eyebrow suggestively.

"Now you've got my attention." Caroline leered a little at Kate over her wine glass. Why on earth had she said she wanted to take it slowly? She didn't want to take it slowly at all. She couldn't even look at Kate without wanting her. Stupid, stupid Caroline.

But Kate now had that faraway look she sometimes got in her eyes, when something caught her imagination. Caroline was enchanted, but it also made her wistful; watching Kate drift away on a whim, to a place she couldn't follow. She couldn't share.

"I've always had a thing for blondes," Kate said, staring off, enigmatic smile playing around her lips. A little sigh.

_Pleural?_

"Have you, now?" Unable to keep the jealous tone out of her voice completely. "Fancy that."

The headmistress was never far from the surface and the cool words made Kate look up, waking from her vivid inner world, embarrassed and aware her mouth had slightly run away with itself. Again.

"Y'know. Blonde. Blue eyes. Bit uptight. Pencil skirt. Fabulous legs. Whacking high heels. Freckles. Called Caroline. Elliot. Headmistress. Yorkshire."

Caroline had the good grace to laugh.

"Come here," she ordered, kissing Kate's exquisite jawline, her fingers tracing those beautifully full lips. And when Kate playfully nipped her fingertip, it had felt good to squeal in surprise and push Kate back against the sofa, biting her neck in retaliation.

Only it had sparked from playful to passion in seconds, catching fire like parched tinder, taking them both by surprise, and suddenly Kate was exposing more of that lithe, lean neck and Caroline was covering her, weak with want.

"Kate, _please-" _

"Caroline."

Kate made a small noise Caroline had never heard before and it fuelled her with the heady, intoxicating need for control and power as they began to kiss fiercely; intense emotions flaring, stirring, churning.

_His arms holding her... His breath against her neck..._

Caroline closed her eyes against the piercing mental image.

_His body moving against her..._

The room began to spin a little. Her head, thick with wine and insecurity, began to pound.

_His urgency, his excitement, his..._

It was so easy then to pull Kate's wrists above their heads, claiming her, binding them together forever. Knowing Kate was hers...

Then, that familiar feeling of emotional distance, of separating, the comforting sensation of remoteness, numbing the closeness she truly longed for between them. Caroline felt the baby twitch under her, as if aware of her thoughts, and she twisted away, ashamed.

By the time Kate had registered the change and opened her eyes, Caroline had left the room, gently shutting the door behind her.

* * *

"After I left... the... hotel," Caroline said slowly, taking a sip of her lukewarm tea, "I got roaring drunk and started scrawling down everything I knew about you - in a fit of bloody-minded _temper, _actually - to prove you wrong; to prove it wasn't all about me."

Kate closed her eyes and shook her head sadly. "Caroline, I'm so sorry."

Caroline looked down at the piece of paper in her hand. The wind howled again, ripping its well-worn edges slightly.

"This makes pitiful reading. I didn't even manage a second page. You'd been in my bed for months and I knew _nothing."_

Caroline leant forward, her fingers restlessly raking her scalp, wrestling her windswept hair, wrestling her demons.

"I have spent _months _regretting every selfish thing I did, Kate; all the times I tried to _control _you, and dominate you, and keep you right where I wanted you - at arm's length. All the times I took your sweet nature and kindness for granted-"

Kate looked away, her voice trembling with remorse.

"_Don't_. I'm not sweet. I'm not kind. I was cruel. That day. It was cruel... what I said."

"And just now... When will I _learn, _Kate? Why do I keep making the same mistakes over and over again? Still trying to make the rules, set the parameters, _control _the situation-"

"Caroline," Kate said softly, flushing a little. "It's what we both wanted. Why are you so upset?"

Unable to talk about him. Unable to talk about him and her together. Tremors underfoot. The earth shifting a little, dangerously.

"We both know we're just delaying the inevitable here, Caroline. We both know where this is heading, sooner or later," Kate said, candidly. "Maybe we could just... do it."

_We could just... do it._

The words triggered a terrible, powerful memory of a playing field and a seismic, shaking, shocking conversation that felt like the sky falling in on itself; felt like a little earthquake knocking her off-balance, her feet stumbling under the resettling of this strange, new landscape. Her path ahead now blocked, rerouted, pitted with obstacles.

"_No_," she said sharply, her ardour cooling immediately at the memory. "No." Whispered. "That's not what I want." Why hadn't she said that back then? Why, indeed.

"Then what _do _you want, Caroline?" asked Kate. "Tell me what you want."

"What I want, what I crave, what I long for, Kate... is... is... _intimacy... _and I know that means... letting go. And that's hard for me."

Caroline's eyes were glistening with emotion, and - before she could hold them back - her words tumbled out like tears, spilling into the frozen air; her true, painful feelings immortalised by a million misty particles of water and ice.

"Because I realise that I've been lonely all my life. And I don't want to be lonely anymore, Kate. I don't want to be lonely. I want to be with _you."_

Kate was silent a while. She took Caroline's hand in hers, laced their cold fingers together; observing how beautiful, how natural, how perfect their different coloured skins looked joined together. It didn't have to be so complicated.

"Then let go," Kate said simply. "And be with me."

Caroline quivered, a violent tremor passing through her body, and Kate tugged at her hand.

"Come inside. I'll make a fresh pot of tea for us both."

"I'll have wine."

"I'll make a fresh pot of tea for us both," repeated Kate, pointedly.

They walked back towards the house, hands still joined, the strong wind propelling them up the path, the leaves and detritus of the garden capriciously swirling around them, like a strange sorcerer's spell.

"You make it too strong."

"Caroline."

"Really, Kate, it's like builder's tea."

"Caroline-"

"You could dissolve a spoon in it."

"Caroline..." A final warning.

"Oh, alright_. _Fine. _Whatever_." She grinned.

Caroline decided to just... let it go.

And closed the door behind them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Caravan**

"A _week?"_ exclaimed Kate.

"It's been bought by a Russian businessman," said Caroline, wishing - rather waspishly - that Kate had sounded a bit more excited about it. "He wants to move his family in next Saturday. We exchanged this morning. What do you think?"

"It's too _soon, _Caroline," said Kate faintly, a little light-headed. Feeling that familiar sensation of being cajoled and ushered onto a terrifying fairground ride, and watching the ground begin to spin around her - grimly hanging onto the safety bar for dear life - while Caroline shrieked and squealed _faster, faster, _exhilarated by the sensation, the wind on her face, her arms waving about in the air.

Caroline humphed, a little saltily.

"Too _soon? _This is our _fourth _attempt to be together. You're about to give _birth. _I'm _out, _ooh-la-la. We're in our _fabulous_ forties, Kate; what, exactly, are we waiting for? Hip replacements? Cataracts? Death?_"_

"Caroline," said Kate evenly, buttering the toast, "look around you. Your _kitchen _is bigger than my cottage. You'd go stir crazy. Lawrence would have a box room-"

"You wouldn't mind that, would you, Lawrence?"

Lawrence, sleepily chewing on his Banana Frosted Flakes, opened his mouth to speak-

"See? It's _fine. _It'll work. It'll be _marvellous, _you wait and see."

"Where on earth would William stay?" The ride was getting faster and wilder. Slung left. Jolted right. The scenery now a blur. Eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted...

But Caroline had all the answers and rushed on, rushed in, eagerly, a whirlwind of energy and vitality. Enjoying the ride. Dangling her legs. Waving away to the spectators.

"Well, I was thinking, we could get rid of that armchair in the bay window, and replace it with a sofa bed." But there was something evasive in Caroline's gaze now. Something... undeclared.

"It wouldn't _work, _Caroline."

"So, what do you expect us to do?" Caroline's voice was getting heated now. "Go back and forth between two houses for the next thirty years?" Hands on hips. Snotty little glare to disguise her hurt and fear.

"Sounds tempting," mumbled Kate.

"I could play the piano," said Lawrence distantly, his mouth full of cereal, resting his cheek on his fist nonchalantly as he chewed and chewed and stared into space.

"And what if something happens to you and I'm not there?" Caroline was on a roll now, her voice starting to sound like an air-raid siren winding up, droning that bombs were about to fall. Really big, incendiary bombs. "Can I _remind _you, Kate, that I've already missed the first six months of the baby, thank-you very much; I hardly think it's fair to deny me the right to share in your third trimester. _Honestly, _Kate, you can be so selfish-"

Kate's head turned immediately at Lawrence's words, tuning out Caroline like the sound of a fly fizzing and flapping repeatedly against a windowpane. Resisted the temptation to _swat _it. She was a vegetarian. She could rise above it. She took a deep breath. Rested her elbows on the cool granite of the kitchen island unit, observing him.

"Would you like to... learn how to play?" she asked gently.

Lawrence shrugged, looking down at his cereal. "Yeah," he said eventually.

And she saw, as usual, the label sticking out the back of his rugby shirt. Without thinking, walked behind him, tucked it back in.

"You and your labels," she said. Found her thumb fondly rubbing the back of his neck for a moment, so slender and vulnerable and pale. And she felt another tug of growing affection for him.

"I think you could be really great," she said kindly.

He grimaced, not knowing how to respond, but it gave her hope. Hope they could bond; hope she could be a positive influence on him; hope she might be able to share one of her life's greatest joys with him. And started to think, maybe they _could _be happy in the cottage. Maybe they _could _be a family there...

Caroline was still talking.

"If we ignore her," said Kate under her breath, grinning, "will she finally shut up?"

"She just talks louder," he said, yawning.

They shared a knowing look.

"...and listen, Kate. Don't worry about the money. I can pay for everything."

Kate's back stiffened, her smile fading.

_Money?_

"We can rip out the kitchen, replace the sofa-"

"There's nothing wrong with my sofa. Or my kitchen. I _love _my kitchen," said Kate slowly. The muscles started to tense ominously in her jaw. She folded her arms, leant back against the island unit. Foot twitching like the tormented tail of an angry cat. Swishing _dangerously._

"I'm just saying, we _could. _Then bring all the furniture from here and-"

"And _what?" _Kate was squaring her shoulders now, black eyes flashing. She noticed Lawrence chewed on, unperturbed, clearly used to family feuding and Kate found that deeply unsettling. He shouldn't be listening to this. No wonder he was so cynical.

"My dad installed that kitchen - on his hands and knees. Took him weeks. Perhaps you'd like to get rid of _him, _too?" Kate's voice now had that cold, quiet delivery Lawrence recognised from class.

_Point to McKenzie. _

He turned casually to his mum. Waited for the riposte. Chewing, chewing. Definitely more entertaining than _Daybreak._

"Kate," Caroline looked appalled. "That's not what I meant-"

"No. I know exactly what you meant. Trying to bulldozer me like you always do." Kate snatched up her car keys. Hastily pulled on her coat in the hallway. "Always insisting everything goes your way. At your speed. Well, this is one ride I'm not getting on, Caroline."

"Kate-"

The front door slammed.

"Sometimes, mum," said Lawrence, stretching, yawning, his bowl and spoon clattering in the sink, grabbing Kate's discarded toast as he passed, "you can be a real _knob."_

And before she could retort, he had run up the stars, two-at-a-time, and banged shut his bedroom door. She glanced out the window, watched Kate's car reversing out the drive.

Sudden silence.

Caroline dropped down heavily in a chair, the curious red mist now drained away, leaving her trembling with adrenaline, and she thought; _that's what I do._

Drive people away. Scare people away.

No wonder she'd been lonely. No wonder the people she cared for always bolted like sprinters at the starting gun the moment the stinging sarcasm began. She sat biting her thumbnail and swallowed hot tears, exhaling deeply. Had the sinking feeling she'd just managed to blow it.

Again.

* * *

"...and I said to Alan, 'Alan, you don't want to be doing _that _at your age'. But he said he did. So we gave it a whirl. Twice."

A heavy pause. Nothing.

"So, then_ I_ said, 'Well, in that case, pop on this leopard print thong, will you, pet, and rub me all over with Karma Sutra Honey Dust...'."

Still nothing. _Really? _

"Caroline. _Caroline."_

Distant, watery blue eyes gazed at her across the table. Fiddling with her necklace beads. Worrying away at her lower lip.

"You can go off people y'know," grumbled Celia, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

She hated seeing Caroline look so... lost. She'd hoped they'd have sorted all this mess out by now. Weren't women... _together... _supposed to be good at talking to each other and the like? Otherwise, what was the point? Caroline might as well have got back with John. God help them.

Caroline sighed wearily, forcing herself to concentrate.

"Sorry, mum. What were you saying?" Sipped her tea. It was lukewarm. Half-heartedly munched a HobNob. Looked around sadly at all the boxes of belongings being carefully packed away in her annexe flat. She was going to miss mum when they moved in with Gillian. And she'd miss Alan's unfailing kindness and easy-going nature. Her new dad.

"Oh... _nothing_, love... Didn't go down too well, then, your idea? With Kate?"

"Well, other than telling her I was going to rip out the kitchen her dad built especially for her, and replace all her precious belongings with my far _superior _ones, I think it went really well. Terrific. _Wonderful. _So bloody _marvellously, _in fact, she immediately drove home. And now won't answer her phone."

"You big twit," said Celia affectionately.

"I've heard worse today," said Caroline archly, looking at her fingernails. Her luminous blue eyes brimming with more unshed tears.

"What about all moving to a nice _new _house together, then? Fresh start, and all that."

"Oh, mum, she's _nesting. _I can't ask her to move now. She keeps fussing over cushions and throws. She needs to be in her home. Besides, I... _love _the cottage."

"Since _when?" _exclaimed Celia. "You always said it was pokey. And a bit damp."

Caroline shifted in her seat, uncomfortably. "I don't feel that way about it now. I've... changed."

And realised she _had._

"Well, love, in that case, you'll just have to find a way to tell her the truth, won't you?"

"What _is_ the truth, mum? I don't know what the truth is anymore." And Caroline looked bemused, the way she did when she was a youngster, struggling to make friends. Her only child. Her lonely child. Hurt and confused. Not understanding the rules of engagement.

"Do you want to be with her." A statement. Trying to help her understand, as only a mum can.

"Yes. Of course I do," Caroline replied shortly. "You _know _I do." Yearning.

"Would you care if she had nothing; Kate? No job? No prospects? No home?"

"I'd live with her in a caravan," said Caroline without thinking. Staring off into the back garden gloomily.

Celia smiled. Patted Caroline's hand. "Well, then."

"Well, then _what?"_

"Tell her that, love."

And poured them both another cup of tea.

* * *

After what felt like an eternity, the front door finally opened. Already in her pajamas and dressing gown in the late afternoon, looking wan and troubled, Kate immediately climbed the stairs back to bed. There was no smile, no greeting for Caroline, who silently followed her and closed the bedroom door behind them. Braced herself.

"Kate-"

"Look, Caroline, I don't want to fight anymore. I'm too tired to fight," murmured Kate, her eyes shutting, miserably turning on her side. Trying to get comfortable.

"I've tried and I've tried to find a way to tell you how I feel but I'm just so... so... _hopeless _sometimes... So _useless _at this, Kate... Everything I say comes out wrong and so I... so I... Oh, sod it," Caroline said in frustration.

She sat down on the bed next to Kate and put on her reading glasses. Got out a small notebook from her handbag, adjusting it so the words swam into focus.

"Just _listen, _Kate, please-"

"Caroline." Weary, so weary of listening.

"_Please_."

So, Kate lay silent and still and Caroline began to read, quietly;

"I'd live with you in a caravan,  
A sleeping bag under the sky.  
I'd live with you on a river boat;  
We'd watch the world gently drift by.

"I'd live with you in a touring tent,  
We'd cook by a campfire at night.  
I'd live with you in a mountain cave,  
We'd blink in the bright morning light.

"All that I'll bring are my photographs,  
For years, they've hung up in the hall.  
All that I'll bring are their memories,  
Like the faint shadows they'll leave on the wall.

"The buyers can keep all the furniture,  
The Aga, the Sony TV,  
The Harvey Nicks toaster, the Harrods silk throw;  
These things are just... _things _now to me.

"All that I'll bring are my secateurs,  
My spade and a plant pot or two.  
All that I'll bring is a guarantee  
I'll build that garden in springtime... for _you."_

There was a small choking noise, and a hand reached out to grip hers tightly. Caroline swallowed hard and, voice wavering, carried on.

"Each day that we wait  
Is a day that we waste  
And so many, already gone by.

"The buyers can have all the silverware,  
The bone china vase from Versailles,  
The cream chenille curtains, the sofa from Loaf;  
I yearn for things money can't buy.

"I'd live with you in a caravan,  
An igloo, a submarine, too;  
But what would be splendidly, _wondrously _fine  
Is to live in this cottage with you,  
Kate McKenzie,  
To live... in this cottage... with _you."_

There was a long, terrible, dreadful silence.

"Oh, Kate, _forgive _me-"

But Caroline got no further, as Kate threw her arms around her, silent tears splashing against her neck, clinging so tightly together that they nearly lost balance. Caroline cradled her, tenderly rocking her, feeling her world finally return to colour. Weakly tried levity.

"It wasn't _that _bad, was it? I mean, I know the prosody's a bit wonky but-"

"Shut up, Caroline," said Kate, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms, a gesture that always made Caroline ache to protect and care for her.

"_Sorry_. Sorry," said Caroline meekly, drinking in the wonder of her. Sighing in sheer relief. There was an intimate hush for a while, just rocking Kate for comfort and watching the sunset through the large bedroom window. Following an airplane floating miraculously through the lid of the sky, wondering idly where it was going, where it had been. Until, minutes later, all that was left in the failing light was a dazzling plume of vapour streaking across the heavens in golds, pinks and tangerine orange.

"I make tea in a pot," Kate whispered finally, sniffing softly against her shoulder. "None of this just-waving-a-tea-bag-over-a-mug like you do at yours."

"Right." Caroline nuzzled the graceful line of her neck.

"And no hogging all the wardrobe space with your Imelda Marcos collection of heels."

"Understood." Rubbed her cheek against Kate's temple, feeling the pulse thrum and vibrate.

"Sometimes I just wander off mid-conversation to play my piano. You're going to pretend that's perfectly normal."

"Absolutely." Inhaled the peach and apricot of her hair, the sandalwood of her skin.

They held each other quietly again, the light now nearly gone.

"Can I... kiss you, Kate?" Caroline's voice was unusually small and unsure.

Still cradled low in Caroline's arms, Kate tilted her face and Caroline pressed their lips together delicately. A gossamer kiss. Frightened Kate might break, might bruise. That Caroline might hurt her again. Wiped the trace of tears from that beautiful face. So very, very _beautiful. _Those almond eyes. Those full, rich lips. That magnificent jawline and neck. Her kindness. Her generosity. Her bravery.

Then, abruptly, Caroline felt it again; that unravelling; that ribbon around her chest unwinding, unknotting, loosening, _loosening. _A longing she would not name. Grateful for the darkness and that she could hide in it a little longer, knowing a word lurked in the shadows with her. Waiting.

"Am I forgiven?" Caroline asked, her voice catching, the laughter lines around her eyes full of remorse and sadness. Kate reached out to smooth the anxiety away.

"Forgiven," Kate whispered. Drawing them both back to the pillows. "I'm sorry I got scared," she said, in the safety of the night sky, keeper of all secrets.

"We all get scared." Caroline's arms squeezed her instinctively.

"Let's make this place our home, then," Kate said softly.

Caroline smiled, her eyes glistening in the darkness.

"You _are _my home."

In a cottage, an old caravan, a sleeping bag under an infinity of shimmering stars.

It really didn't matter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Photographs And Mirrors**

His eyes were iron blue; the yellow freckles exploding like stars across his irises. According to Angus, anyway, but he always said fancy stuff like that. He lifted his eyebrows; looking permanently surprised. Noticed the deeply-etched frown marks already lining his forehead. That'd be mum's doing, Lawrence noted, nodding sagely to himself. Did his ears stick out too much? He waggled them, experimentally. Pursed his lips. Wanted a chin dimple, like mum's, like the superheroes had in his comics. Looked for one. Found Popsicola's soft jaw instead. _Whatever_.

Angus had a mole on the back of his neck. Did _he_? How would he ever know? He tried to play a trick with pop's old shaving mirror, glancing at it through the corner of his eye, trying to see beyond its reflection. Tried to imagine himself with a beard. With no eyebrows. With a busted nose. He grinned wickedly.

His iPhone growled to Gorillaz. Read Angus' note, hooted and super-thumbed a witty retort. Pressed _send. _Tossed his phone to the floor, impatient already for a reply. He was feeling... good about the move. Anything to be out of this shitty house with all its shitty, never-ending arguments. And, well, McKenzie had been... alright. She was funny. Not in a flashy way, like mum, but... anyway.

He hadn't meant to get upset on their car ride into Harrogate the other day. But McKenzie had been so quiet and patient. Angus still wouldn't talk to him and he felt.._. _Well, he didn't know _how_ he felt, really. But he couldn't stop thinking about... _it_. And, ignoring his frightened protests, McKenzie had simply reversed the car and driven him to Angus' house instead. Got a taste, first-hand, of her bravery. McKenzie was surprisingly... tough.

"C'mon," she said, matter-of-factly and marched up to Angus' door. Knocked politely and waited.

"I'm not coming out the car," he'd whined, voice trembling. What a _wuss. _But he did. Cowered behind her baby bump, like a big girl's blouse. Like a big _poof._

She'd tried not to look shocked at Angus' busted nose but didn't quite succeed.

"Nice shiner, Angus," she'd said, taking in his black eye, and after an awkward pause, Angus eventually grinned... and Lawrence knew it was going to be okay again. They'd slouched in silence in the back seats, flung to opposite sides of her car like astronauts training on a centrifuge, listening to her friendly commentary and chatter.

Dropped them off at the Odeon cinema and waved them goodbye, looking for something tempting to feed his mum for lunch. Pressed some cash into his hand. Tucked his label back in again.

And _this _time, he swallowed, suddenly tearful and wiping his watery nose on his sleeve, when Angus had reached for the popcorn in the dark, and instead had tentatively held his elbow for a moment, Lawrence just... let him. Covered his hand briefly with his own hot and sweaty palm.

"I'm sorry, Angus," Lawrence uttered, glad of the darkness.

"S'alright," said Angus, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

And that was that.

His iPhone growled again as Caroline burst in, carrying a foul-looking, garishly floral chintz vase. He liked her in old jeans and a casual denim shirt. _Mum._

"_Jesus_, what _was _Muriel thinking? Lawrence, have you seen my best paring knife?" She eye-balled him accusingly, casing his joint like a forensics investigator.

He shook his head, slyly kicking the handle further under his bed; he'd been using it to practice his essential knife-throwing skills; lobbing it at the manky old apple tree next door. Nearly scalped a snoozing squirrel instead and quickly scarpered. The knife was bent to buggery, though.

Lawrence's iPhone was blaring insistently and Caroline picked it up from the floor. Passed it to him, resisting the temptation to read the message emblazoned across the screen. Instinctively understanding that secrets were a part of him growing up. Part of him growing _away_ from her. Caroline suddenly felt a powerful tug, wanting to kiss his head. Smell his boyish hair. Wondered if he'd let her.

"Have I got a mole on my neck?" He asked her, bending his head forward.

She peered curiously.

"No. Why?"

"Coz I can't see," he said simply.

"Well, that's why you've got us, you daft thing. To check you've washed the back of your ears."

"To tuck my labels back in." He was thoughtful.

"Yes," Caroline said, taken aback, aware how often she underestimated him. She looked again at the vase.

"You know, I've carried this vase around with me for twenty years. I've always loathed it. It's like a prop from _Acorn Antiques._"

Lawrence shrugged. "So chuck it," he said indifferently, carefully taking down his Red Hot Chili Peppers poster. Watched, curiously, as she strode purposefully to his open window.

"What you doing, mum?"

"Chucking it," she said cockily, stretching out her arms and casually dropping it from the open window, watching, in some satisfaction, as it smashed violently onto the patio below.

"Oops," she said. Turned to Lawrence. "Anything you want to chuck?" She folded her arms, daring him. "It has to belong to _you," _she added dryly.

Lawrence paused, pondered. Bounced off his bed like a trampoline, grabbed a framed photo stuffed at the bottom of his sock drawer.

"Yeah, this," he said, jutting chin.

Caroline looked. A photo of John and him, on a rare fishing trip a while back. John had scrawled in the corner;

_I'll always be there for you._

Caroline sobered. "Why?" she asked softly.

"Because he lied," he said angrily, and - before she could stop him - Lawrence flung it wildly out the window. There was a piercing shriek of shock below. Followed by some very colourful language. Caroline and Lawrence peeked over the window sill in unison.

"You nearly _killed _me," bellowed Celia, glaring up at them darkly. "What, in god's name, are you two doing up there?"

"Chucking away all our bloody _rubbish,_" yelled Caroline. She glanced at Lawrence. Started laughing. _Shedding our skin, _she thought, feeling lighter already.

* * *

"I thought _you_ were supposed to be packing away the bookcase," Celia complained, hands-on-hips and cranky, having just survived a near-death experience. She surveyed the chaos of their living room. Alan glanced up guiltily from his armchair.

"Well, I _were, _Celia. I were. Truly. But then, y'see, I found this old photo album - it were wedged between Delia's _Frugal Food_ and Margaret Thatcher's _To Hell In A Handbag_." He paused, face becoming sentimental. "You looked so _lovely, _Celia. I just wanted... y'know, to take a little _peek_."

Celia glanced over his shoulder. An old black and white photo, faded and curled-up at the edges; she was at the seaside, wearing a mini-skirt, hair blowing in the wind. Caroline stood dutifully next to her, expression very serious, a mop of unkempt baby curls, dragging a plastic spade in the sand behind her. Strangers' lives in the background - snoozing in deck-chairs, frolicking in the sea, walking dogs - captured for all eternity alongside them.

"Our Caroline could only be about three," she commented, off-hand. Her face toughened, battle-scarred. "No point looking at those photos. I was bloody miserable."

"You _look _happy enough," said Alan, a little confused.

"Do I?" asked Celia, uncomfortably peering sideways at the photograph. "Well, I wasn't. _He'd _just told me he had to go home to work and leave us at Morecambe beach. I knew he was really going back to sleep with his... his _whore."_

Celia turned away, starting to pack away the books. Her eyes were dry as dust.

"Couldn't wait to get away. Bought us fish and chips. Then legged it," she said bitterly. Dumped books in a box.

Alan unhappily glanced at their wedding photo in the big gold frame Raff had bought them, taking pride of place on their mantlepiece; their grinning faces, their shiny hair, their best bib and tucker.

"Were you happy in _that _photo, Celia?"

His face - so open, so trusting - now visibly worried and upset. Celia followed his gaze, followed his train of thought and instantly regretted her words. Forgot how easily hurt he could be. She wound her arms around his neck, kissed him passionately on the mouth. Stroked his lovely face. Smiled.

"You daft apeth. Is that what's bothering you? Happiest day of my life, Alan Buttershaw, the day I married you."

But, Alan wondered, how would he really _know? _Celia looked fondly at the wedding photo, a smug little smile around the edge of her mouth.

"Funny, really. My life; so happy now. With _you. _All our little... _adventures. _The fun we have together, you and me. And his; bloody awful at the end. Dribbling into his food. Couldn't even tell you his name by the time he died." The hard look returned, her eyes narrowed spitefully. "Dementia, Alzheimer's - whatever fancy words doctors use nowadays... Couldn't have happened to a _nicer _man."

Alan grimaced, still taken aback by her occasional bouts of cruelty.

Closed the album.

* * *

He had a shock of thick, unruly white hair, once platinum, once his glory. His eyes were a shockingly bright blue, becoming opaque now with the ravages of time; his skin, a little sunken and pinched, was pale. Kate looked at him through the dressing table mirror, as she carefully trimmed the back of his hair. She smiled at him. He smiled tentatively back at her reflection. Wound his watch. Wound it again.

They were silent for a long while, just the sound of the scissors snipping, snipping, snipping.

"Dad," Kate said eventually, "do you remember the first piano duet we played together?"

Silence.

"Well, now I'm going to teach it to Caroline's son; the lad I told you about, Lawrence-"

"_Forest_ _Fantasies... 'She lay upon a bank, the favourite haunt of the spring wind in its first sunshine hour'."_

Kate laughed in delight, as he remembered, as he began to hum. He reached out, drumming the melody on the top of the dressing table with his knotted fingers, the large liver spots on the back of his hand shifting, morphing, as the skin - sheer as gauze - danced to the rhythm.

Their old game.

Kate put down the scissors and comb and added the bass motif, seven-years-old again. It used to drive her mum crazy, but music was in their bones and in their blood and it spilt out onto any surface they could find; tabletops, car dashboards, knees. Rhythms becoming more wild, more complex; trying to out-play each other with tricky syncopations.

_Pockets of memory, _Kate realised.

Like pockets of air in a sunken ship at the bottom of the ocean. She gulped them in greedily, desperately, sustaining her through the deep, dark undercurrents when he was lost to her.

"What time is it?" he asked, becoming agitated, his hands shaking and balling into angry red fists, closing like scarlet poppies protecting their precious pollen at night.

"Five-to-five, dad. Mum - _Aisha_ - will be here soon."

His face lit up.

"I'm going to marry her," he said.

"Yeah?" she asked evenly, looking away briefly to disguise her grief.

He began winding up his watch again then looked out the window, mutely.

Kate picked up the comb. She rotated him slowly in the swivel chair, an artist at the potter's wheel, scrutinising her creation for imperfections; wishing, like Daedalus, she could pour quicksilver into his mouth to give him back his voice. And, as she turned him, Neil McKenzie looked surprised to see his reflection in the mirror, as if to say; _there I am._

_There I am._

"Do you remember when you built my kitchen, dad? When I moved into the cottage after..." _Richard._

He was silent. Stared into the distance.

"It took you ages to finish all the kick-boards because the cottage floor was so uneven. Do you remember? You kept cursing. We should have got a professional carpenter in, really, but you were so stubborn, you wouldn't give up. Do you remember, dad? You forgot to sand-down one of the lower cupboards and-"

"You snagged your new grey cardigan on it." He was frowning. "You weren't best pleased."

He looked away unhappily. Drifting away from her, with his mind, with his body.

"Dad," Kate said, lightly touching his shoulder, but he looked straight through her.

Dismissing her.

* * *

Caroline pulled Kate's old grey cardigan from her suitcase and lingered, sensually enjoying the soft, brushed fabric against her cheek, running her palm over the small rend in the seam by the left pocket, before folding it tenderly under her pillow. Her guilty secret. Her comfort.

Sensed Kate's presence before she felt those lovely arms wrap around her waist from behind, head resting against her back.

"How long have you been watching?" Caroline asked quietly, feeling exposed.

"Long enough," replied Kate, her voice sounding strained and agitated. Surprised when Kate's fingers began to unbutton her shirt urgently.

"I just need to know you're here, Caroline. That you _see _me." Kate's voice breaking, now roughly undoing her own top, fingers trembling.

"I see you," said Caroline, confused and anxiously turning, her vivid blue eyes darting over Kate's flushed face; her unfocused, frightened gaze.

"_Caroline_..." Kate said, her breathing shallow.

Instinctively reaching around, unhooking Kate's bra, unhooking her own and impatiently stripping away their clothes to the waist. Pulled the heat of their skins together, wrapping her arms as tightly as she could around Kate's back, hands splayed, anchoring them in space. Felt the raw power of connection as their bodies crushed together. Hearing Kate's soft cry at the contact, feeling Kate's need, a rapture, as her nails bit into Caroline's shoulders, then in her hair, desperately clawing, craving her.

"I _see _you, Kate," Caroline whispered fiercely in Kate's ear, gripping her, grasping her, hands running over the shifting muscles of Kate's back, trying to pull her even closer. Trying to meld them, fuse them, trying to make them as one for a single fleeting moment.

"I _always _see you. I always have," Caroline's voice guttural, rasping, burying her head low in the sinews of Kate's neck. Deeply stirred.

They stood there, both knowing it wasn't enough. Knowing it would never be enough. But, after a while, Kate's breathing calmed and they were able to let go enough to look at each other. Caroline's gaze intense and connected, as she held Kate's face between her hands.

"I'm here," she said simply.

A vow. A promise. Felt the tension eventually begin to drain from Kate's body, seeping away like cool rain into scorched earth. Drawing Kate now into a gentle embrace, melting into the unbearable softness of her. Tugging her down to their bed, shocked as she caught sight of the angry wheals streaking across her shoulders, reflected back at her from the wardrobe mirror. Shocked that Kate could inflict wounds.

And, later that night, Caroline lay staring at the ceiling of her new bedroom, her arms wrapped securely around Kate's warm body, Kate's cheek comforted against the swell of her breast.

Thought about Lawrence's photograph fracturing into a thousand shards of glass. Thought about Kate gently tucking in the label at the back of his neck. Realised that no-one could see themselves completely. Realised how little she knew herself before Kate; how much she had relied on others to tell her _who _she was. Holding up their mirrors. Wondered if they told her the truth of what they saw.

Thought of her own secrets, never shared. Turned to look at Kate, her breathing deep and calm. Seemingly asleep. Seemingly at peace now.

Worried about Kate's secrets. Questioned, truthfully, if she really wanted to know what they were.

_Him undressing her...  
Him caressing her...  
Him holding her...  
Him... kissing her._

No, Caroline recoiled in panic.

Let the photographs lie.  
Let the mirrors deceive.

She would outrun the truth. She would sprint; gasping, heart pounding, arms flailing, legs burning, lungs bursting to keep it behind her. But she felt its hard breath already on the back of her neck, its long shadow on her shoulder, reaching out to touch her, its voice demanding to be heard, and, involuntarily, she gripped Kate tighter.

"Caroline? You... alright?" Kate murmured smokily, an arm reaching up, winding around Caroline's neck; warm lips tantalisingly grazing her breast.

"Fine," Caroline said calmly, kissing her hair. Lying. Deceiving. _Running._

"Go back to sleep, Kate."

Lay, staring at the ceiling.

Blinking.

Blinking.

* * *

_Many thanks to everyone who's taken the time to follow or post a review. I really appreciate it. I'm now taking a short break to enjoy the other writers in LTIH, and look at the sky (rather than the inside of my head). See you soon. DennyW_


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you for all your lovely messages and reviews. I so appreciate them. Please be aware some of the following chapters are a little darker and more adult in nature. For those who've asked, we are about half-way through our story._

* * *

**Bitter Fruit**

Caroline slept _gloriously, _Kate decided. There was no other word to describe it. Melodramatic, even in repose, she threw herself into sleep with a voracious appetite; her pale, naked arms, covered with those delicate freckles, flung out luxuriously into space, like she was conducting a symphony or swan-diving off a cliff-top into the billowing breakers below. One arm wound wantonly above her head, framing the golden waves of hair spilling onto the pillow; the other draped lavishly over the edge of the bed like a tragic silent movie star. Her elegant hands upturned, revealing faint, fine, vulnerable veins.

She was lush, beguiling, womanly.

Her profile was turned partially into the pillow; the high cheekbones chiseled and heavily shadowed; her blonde eyelashes occasionally flickering with fragments of dreams. Kate followed the line of her strong chin down through her neck, into the sculpted clavicles, the tendons and muscles of her shoulders. Felt the raw heat from Caroline's body as she slept. Felt its absolute power, its inexorable hold on her. Possessed by its potency. Enslaved by its fierce spirit.

Kate rested on an elbow, reached out and drew back the white cotton sheet, to absorb her complexity, her restlessness, the sweet saltiness of her moods. The silken fullness of her breasts, the rounded swell of her stomach, the lyrical bow of her waist and hips; the long, shapely legs that, even now, possessively wrapped around Kate's, binding them together as tightly as a vine growing out of the earth.

And Kate knew with absolute certainty what she wanted. Knew that what she felt was a deep, unremitting longing to reconnect. To belong. To be owned and subdued and soothed and inflamed by this woman. By this body.

Knew what she needed to do.

She lay back down next to Caroline, sharing the pillow, so close she could feel the warm breath against her cheek. Felt Caroline stir instinctively at the nearness; that vibrant body stretching, expanding, reaching for the heavens - wider, then wider still; her chest thrumming with the deep intake of air through her nostrils. Her essence awakening.

Watched those eyes, soulful and expressive, open sleepily. Blink. The laughter lines crinkled as Kate swam into focus so near to her face. Watched the blue gaze immediately warm, dazzling as a summer sky, becoming intimate and welcoming. Watched the pupils dilate with unveiled desire, focus darting from mouth to eyes to mouth to eyes. Wanting.

Kate leaned in, a featherlight kiss. Felt Caroline shifting, recalibrating as she turned onto her side, pressing their bodies together, legs still tangled, her hand now stroking Kate's hip sensuously. Feeling Caroline's drowsy heat spread through them; that languid moment between dreaming and wakefulness, where desire dances or ebbs away into the budding light of the new day.

Caroline pressed closer still, her mouth already softly open, waiting, waiting, and they kissed lingeringly. Hovering in the edges of passion, enjoying the enveloping sensations. Caroline now easing Kate onto her back, her palm carefully cradling the baby; rearing up to kiss her deeply, with an aching intensity, feeling Kate's mouth surrender to her, yielding.

Kate's hands came to rest on Caroline's face and their eyes met again.

"Promise me," Kate whispered.

"What?" asked Caroline tenderly; lost in the moment, the openness, the beauty.

"Promise me that no matter what happens - however angry or upset we are with each other - that we'll always sleep together every night in our bed."

"I promise," said Caroline, seriously, stroking her face. Pulling her close, kissing her again with such care, such feeling that Kate weakened. Wavered.

She eased away gradually, not wanting to cause pain. But knowing she must.

"It's time," Kate said.

There was a peculiar, parched stillness, a hushed agitation, then Caroline kissed her neck, pressed her lips against Kate's ear. Ignored her words.

"Caroline-"

"I can't." So low, so quietly uttered, Kate wondered if she'd spoken at all. Just felt the warm breath vibrate against her ear. Made her shiver.

"I _know. _But we have to."

"Why? I forgive you. Forgive me. Let's leave it behind us." Kissing her neck a little harder. Kate shivered again. Pressed her body against Kate's a little firmer. Trying to take control.

"It's not as simple as that, Caroline." Trying to disengage, sit-up.

"I can't, Kate. Really, I can't. Please don't..." _Hurt me. _"We don't _need _to talk."

Letting go the river, letting the rapids rage wildly; remembering how urgently these bodies clung together as the riptide carried them away. Gathering Kate into her arms and kissing her now, hard, a little desperately; trying to lose herself, trying to drag Kate into the torrent, pull her under the current, submerge her in this swell of passion. But Kate held on to the moorings and would not be swept away.

"Caroline."

"I don't _need _to know." Frustration edging her voice.

"Well, clearly you _do_, Caroline, as every time we try to..."

Kate swallowed, containing her distress. Looked at Caroline once more.

"I'm getting bigger, Caroline. There are things I want to... share with you before... before the baby. Once... _If... _our lives will never be the same again."

_Whose fault is that? _Caroline thought.

"I understand," she said, neutrally. Change of tactic. "Did you know," smiling cheerfully, "that I can juggle?"

"Yeah?" Kate said, gently pushing those disheveled blonde curls out of Caroline's eyes. Not fooled for a second.

"Seriously. I used to do it to distract mum and dad when they argued." _Wondering if it will work on you._

"Do _you _want to start?"

"I used to have a crabby old tabby cat called Mrs Pumblechook. While they screamed and shouted at each other, I'd dress her up in my _Multi-Coloured Swap Shop _jumper and wheel her around the back garden in mum's shopping trolley."

"Or shall I?" Stroking Caroline's dimpled chin with her thumb. Tracing her eyebrow, the sad crease at the corner of her mouth. Watching those luminous eyes becoming skittish, averted from hers now, in agitation.

"Course, she'd scratch you to hell when she finally got free. Once the yelling stopped, I used to fish her out using mum's best oven gloves."

"Alright. I'll start." Caressing those cheekbones with the back of her fingers, trying to soothe, to calm.

"Stupid cat." Caroline's eyes were now shimmering with unshed tears. "Kept jumping up to be fussed, no matter what I did to it."

"I'm going to tell you what happened between me and Greg-"

Caroline sat up abruptly, her face darkening. Her hair crackled with static electricity as storm clouds gathered overhead. Swung her legs sharply from the bed, looking for her dressing gown.

"Well, I'm going to need tea if we're talking about that _jerk."_

But Kate was prepared.

"Teapot's on the dressing table, Caroline. I made it while you slept. Pour me one, while you're up."

Caroline poured the tea, attempting to hide the tremor in her hands.

"This is far too strong. I _keep _telling you. I'll go make another-"

"Come back to bed, Caroline," Kate said, holding out a steady, reassuring hand. "I want to talk to you."

"Well, I don't want to talk to _you." _Shrugged shoulders, dismissing her. "I've got so much paperwork to finish before school starts again tomorrow. You _know_ I've got that meeting about us with Gavin. And Lawrence needs-"

"Lawrence is having a lie-in with his headphones on. I took him tea and biscuits. He's fine."

Caroline strode naked to the door. "Where's my _sodding _dressing gown?" Impatiently, imperiously, magnificently naked.

"In the wash with mine," said Kate.

Waiting for that first clap of thunder; primal, shocking, disturbing, no matter how expected. No matter how much it cleansed the air. Caroline turned the door handle. Looked back at Kate in utter astonishment.

"It's locked."

"Come back to bed, Caroline." Softly. So softly. That steady hand still outstretched, inviting, offering comfort.

"You've _locked me in? _Oh. You've _got _to be kidding." Stingingly sarcastic. The turbulent downdraft of sudden cold, cold air between them. A _crack _of thunder. Electrical charge building. Buffeting her resistance. Building. Buffeting her obstruction. Building.

"Come here. Lie with me. Let me hold you." Gently. So gently. Kate drew back the sheet, making herself vulnerable, desirable. Beautiful. Arms outstretched to protect against the bête noire.

"Open this door, Kate. Immediately. I'm not bloody joking." Hands on hips, turning away. Terrified to look at Kate's utter radiance, at the baby growing inside her. "Let. Me. _Out._"

"Greg was very nervous-" Lancing the festering sore. Watched it immediately begin to weep and ooze.

"I don't want to _hear _it." Rattling the door urgently. Getting panicky. "We're not _doing _this." Lightning strike, terrifying, as she punches the door savagely with her fist. _Thunderbolt. Air electrifying. _Again. _Booming. Splintering. The windowpane vibrates. _Feeling an acute sharp pain in the cartilage of her wrist. Feeling something _snap. _A lightning _crack. _A fracture, a fissure, a lesion.

"- so he suggested we have a couple of drinks to make it a bit easier-"

"Shut up." Covering her ears. Voice hoarse, beginning to hyperventilate. Kicking the door violently with her bare foot. _Pounding. _Her toenail splits. _Rumbling. Reverberating. Picture frame rattling._ "Shut _up!"_

"-and I thought it might make me forget you long enough to just... do it with him."

"Kate, I'm begging you-" _Don't make me._

Caroline leant her head against the door, eyes squeezed shut. Choked by the dizziness that washed over her; millions of tiny, kaleidoscopic spots swarming across her vision like famished, ferocious insects gnawing into her skull. Kate's voice began to sound distant. Disconnected.

"The room was too hot. Hotel rooms are always too hot. I couldn't breathe. I tried to open the window but it was screwed shut. And then... you see, I _watched _you, Caroline, I watched you walk away from me. Down that gravel path, in your nice blue jacket, get in your jeep without a backward glance. Drive away and... _leave me there."_

Caroline shuddered, utterly exposed. Felt a heavy wave of nausea roll through the pit of her stomach. Sweat prickled her upper lip. Unsteadily, she walked back to the bed and perched on the edge. Shaking uncontrollably, she pulled a corner of the sheet over her bare torso. Lowered her head in her hands, hid her face with her hair. Like some terrible nightmare, the story was unfolding, and Caroline was now unable to stop it. A naked voyeur in a strange, surreal landscape, watching an approaching catastrophe and unable to look away or shout for help. Transfixed. _Spellbound. _Waiting for the inevitable fatal impact, careering full speed at her.

"We took our clothes off with the main light still on. It was like undressing at the doctor's. He joked he'd take his Leeds United socks off. I pretended it was Richard."

_Not me, _thought Caroline.

"And I was so upset by now... so distressed... that he asked if I really wanted to go through with it. Worried that I'd regret it, worried it would ruin our friendship. And all I could think about was you walking _away, _Caroline. Driving _away. _Was the fact you didn't want me. You were ashamed of me, wanted to hide me away like some dirty, _weird _little..."

Kate's voice, so calm up until now, broke a little.

"You know, secretly, up to that point, I thought you would still come and... rescue me. Shout _Happy Birthday _and thump him. But at that moment, I finally understood I was on my own. Again. That you weren't coming back."

Caroline was now completely, utterly still. Frozen. Inert. Her hand began to throb.

"He lay on top of me." A poultice to draw out the infection. It stung. Smarted.

A high-pitched buzzing in Caroline's ears; wanting to lose herself in that white noise. Straining to focus on the screeching in her head instead of those relentlessly direct words quietly _battering _her.

"But I was so tense that he couldn't... so... I thought of you. Focused on the ceiling and thought of you... touching me. And then it was easier. He was very... _gentle-"_

Caroline made a wounded noise. Ripped from her throat.

"Would you rather I say he hurt me?"

Caroline stiffly shook her head, still bowed low beneath her hair. Slowly, painfully dying.

"And for the rest of the time, I... dreamed. I dreamed about the night I parked in that deserted lay-by under those dark oak trees. How frightened you were of... a _kiss. _How it felt, pressing my mouth to yours. How I _wanted _you, Caroline.

"Then... he was... calling my name. And... it was over."

The silence was suffocating, the bedroom suddenly airless and stale with nervous, spent energy. A hand hesitantly brushed Caroline's shoulder, attempting to reconnect, but she wrenched away, her skin burning at the touch. Cowed, bent, out-of-reach.

"Caroline..."

But Caroline had unwittingly germinated a poisonous seed during their months apart.

"Caroline, _talk _to me..."

It had sprouted powerful black tap roots from the soles of her feet and taken hold in the ground.

"Caroline, _please... _say something."

Caroline had watered it for months with her unspoken anger; fed it endlessly with her undeclared grievances.

"Stop... holding it all in. Just let _go."_

And the sapling had grown into a poison tree, the strong tips of her blistered branches now bearing fruit. Crimson. Shiny. Glistening. Succulent. Good enough to _bite _into.

"Let go... _Let... go."_

But it was a bitter fruit. A fruit that would prove far too toxic for Kate and for the baby. So Caroline swallowed the bile of those sour seeds herself.

And stayed silent once more.

Clawed herself unsteadily to her feet, astonished to find they would bear her weight. Brusquely pulled on old jeans and a threaded jumper. Bare-footed. Bare-rooted in her black thoughts.

"Give me the key, please." Cold, so cold. Shutting down. Closing down.

"Don't run _away-"_

"Give me the key." Closing.

"Don't _leave _me, Caroline-"

"The key." Closed.

Caroline took the key, unlocked the door as Kate called to her once more.

"_Why_? Why did you leave me, Caroline? Why did you let me go through with it? I gave you plenty of opportunities to say it was a bad idea."

Caroline turned the handle.

"At some point you have to stay and _deal _with this, Caroline. And I'm not going anywhere. I told you; I came back for you. I'm keeping you now."

But Caroline shut the door behind her, leaving without a backward glance.

Sixty seconds make a minute. Sixty minutes make an hour. The hours of the day continued to turn. The clouds continued to roll. The earth continued to spin. And Kate felt Caroline's silent, angry presence as time without end; felt each second as a minute; each minute as an hour, each hour as an eternity; her rage a lingering ghost in the corners of their bedroom; a distant, disquieting rumble of thunder echoing across the skies from a storm-god unappeased.

Kate lay in their bed, staring up at the indifferent stars in the night sky; Vega, Rigel and Sirius - the brightest of them all - glinting, gleaming, divinely amused by the smallness, the fragility of her dreams.

Surprised, then, to feel a shifting, sentient weight in the bed. Too far away to hold. Rigid and isolated. But Caroline was there, lying next to her, in the twilight. Only then did Kate breathe again, allow her eyes to prickle and fill with the anxiety of the day. With its confusion and complexity.

Finally;

"When he..."

A low voice; grave, disembodied and hesitant, sounding too loud in the gloom.

"When he... _touched _you, that night in the hotel, Kate. Did you..."

"What?" Kate asked softly.

"Did you... _kiss _him?" The voice thick with emotion.

"No," said Kate quickly. _Though he wanted me to. Though he begged me to. _"No. I wouldn't... I didn't... It wasn't ever part of the equation."

For a long time there was no sound, no movement, and Kate wondered if Caroline had somehow managed to fall into an exhausted sleep.

But then a hand reached out and tentatively sought hers, bridging the distance between them. And Kate grasped it, welcomed it, weaving their fingers together greedily over the growing swell of her pregnant stomach; holding on, _holding_ on.

Listened as Caroline's breathing eventually slowed into a shallow sleep. Stared up at those indifferent stars once more.

Felt them gently mocking her.

For the games gods play on mere mortals.

'_One kiss...'_

For the child she longed for.

'_A kiss to say thank-you...'_

For the woman she needed.

'_A kiss goodbye...'_

For the audacity to want it _all._


End file.
